THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


POEMS. 


THE 


TRAVELLER'S  DREAM 


AND 


OTHER    POEMS. 


BY 

SILAS    WOOD    HAZELTINE. 


BOSTON: 
1»TJDLISHED     FOR    THE     A.TJTHOR. 

1860. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1860,  by 

SILAS   WOOD    HAZELTINE, 
In  the  Clerk'*  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Mass. 


BOSTON  : 

STEREOTYPED     AND     PRINTED     BY 
GEO.    C.    HAND     &    AVERY. 


PS 
I  910. 


To  MY  PARENTS  — 

Who  watched  over  my  infancy,  guided  my  youthful 
feet,  and  taught  me  the  way  of  duty ;  who  have 
always  so  kindly  regarded  my  prefent  and  future  wel 
fare,  and  lavifhed  upon  me  their  love  and  kindness, — 
as  a  fmall  token  of  gratitude,  this  volume  is  moft 
refpeftfully  and  affectionately  infcribed  by  their  Son, 

THE   AUTHOR. 


.1 035893 


PREFACE. 


THE  poems  which  compose  this  volume  —  if  such  they 
may  be  called  —  are  the  youthful  efforts  of  the  author, 
and  as  such  they  should  be  considered.  The  critic  will 
not  expect  the  mountain-born  stream  to  be  a  broad, 
deep  river  in  its  early  course ;  —  or,  in  other  words,  he 
will  not  look  to  find  in  these  effusions  either  the  per- 
fectness  of  style  or  the  depth  of  thought  which  marks 
the  matured  poet,  and  which  can  only  be  acquired  by  few, 
even  after  long  years  of  apprenticeship  to  the  Muses. 
It  is  hoped,  however,  that  their  perusal  will  not  be 
entirely  devoid  of  pleasure  and  benefit  to  those  who  have 

"  a  heart  to  feel 
The  poetry  and  sacredness  of  things." 

The  piece  entitled  "The  Sexton's  Grave,"  was  com 
posed  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  though  the  others  were 
mostly  written  from  three  to  eight  years  later.  The 


X  PREFACE. 

greater  part  of  them  are  here  collected  from  various 
newspapers  and  magazines,  to  which  they  were  originally 
contributed.  Some  ten  or  twelve,  however,  now  appear 
in  print  for  the  first  time.  Many  of  them  have  been 
so  extensively  copied  in  the  periodicals  throughout  the 
country,  and  have  won  such  favorable  notices  and  criti 
cisms,  from  various  sources,  that  the  author  is  led  to 
hope  that  he  does  not  too  rashly  intrude  in  thus  for 
mally  presenting  himself  to  Mr.  Public.  He  would  hardly 
have  taken  such  a  step,  had  it  not  been  for  the  en 
couragement  and  advice  of  several  literary  acquaint 
ances,  and  the  belief  that  he  has  many  friends  in  all 
parts  of  the  Union  who  will  greet  his  humble  volume 
with  no  unfriendly  welcome. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

THE  TRAVELLER'S  DREAM 17 

MY  FORTUNE 21 

STANZAS     .       ,  ,          -.  .  .  .  .    -%    .  .  .24 

GONE    TO    DWELL    IN    HEAVEN  .  .  .  .  .26 

THIS    WORLD    IS    BEAUTIFUL    TO    ME       .  .  .  .29 

I    SAID    I    WOULD    FORGET    THEE 31 

A    REQUIEM        .  , 33 

DEATH         .  ,          .  ...  .'.  ..  .35 

"  WHERE   THERE  'S  A   WILL,   THERE    IS    A    WAY  "  .  .36 

JENNY    DALE     .  .  .  ,  .  .  ,        38 

LIFE    AND    DEATH     .  . 40 

OH,    CENSURE    NOT    YOUR    BROTHER    MAN        ...        43 

HAPPY    THOUGHTS 45 

DYING,    PERCHANCE 46 

A    HYMN    OF    THANKS 48 

ALBUM    TRIBUTE 49 

I    WOULL.    NOT    CALL    THEE    MINE  .  51 


Xll  CONTEXTS. 

DEPARTED  GENIUS  .        . 53 

THE  BITTEREST   CUP       .        .  .      .      '*'.-'.        .      55 

NEVER  COURT  BUT  ONE         ....        ."'"*     .      57 

THE  GIRLS  WE   LOVE   THE  BEST  .        .        .        .        .CO 

PROSPERITY  AND  ADVERSITY         .        .        .    -    .        .61 
OUR  PARTING.  —  TO  NETTIE  .        .    ,    -.        .        .        .63 

MY  BROTHER'S  GRAVE    .        ...        ...        .      66 

"  CAST  THY  BREAD   UPON  THE  WATERS "    .        .        .      68 

«   EVA  MOORE .'.--..      70 

THE  COT  AND  THE  MILL       .        .        .        .        .-       .      72 

THE     PLAIN    TRUTH  .  .  .  .  .  .  g        .  .          74 

ALL    ALONE    TO-DAY    I     WANDER       .  „  .  .  .         77 

WARP    AND    WOOF     .  .  .  .  V'.  .  .         79 

THE    BRIDE         .  .  .  ...          »     .     .  .  .         81 

EVEN 85 

DISEASE     .  .  .     '       .  .  .  .'  .  .  .87 

REVELATION       .  .  .  .:        .  *  .  .  .         89 

WE    MET    .  .  .  ^          * 92 

"  I     CANNOT    DO     IT  "          , 95 

SORROW      .  .  .  .  .  .  .  ...  .97 

HE     BUT     CAME     HOME     TO    DIE  .        ".  .V       .  .         99 

THE     HEART     THAT     HAS     LOVED          .  .  .  .  .102 

THE    SONGS    OF    THE    DEAD       .  .  .         ,  . \    .     '»  .104 

UPWARD    AND    ONWARD    .  ,  .  .        ;..  .106 

ANGELS       ,  ...      109 


CONTEXTS.  Xlll 

THOU  SAY'ST  A  HAPPY  LIFE  is  THINE       .        .        .112 

WELL,  THERE!  IF  IT  DOESN'T  BEAT  ALL          .        .  114 

THE  EYES        .        . 116 

TO    117 

WRATH                   .           .           , 119 

CAN  I  FORGET  THEE  ? 120 

THE  SEXTON'S  GRAVE 122 

FOR  ANNETTE'S  ALBUM 124 

OCR  CHILDHOOD'S  HOME 125 

THE  SEPARATION 127 

HAD  THAT  STAR  SHONE  FOR  ME 131 

SUMMER  MORNING  IN  THE  COUNTRY    ....  133 

COME  TO  MY  GRAVE,  AND  SMILE         ....  135 

WEEP  NOT  FOR  HIM      .......  137 

REQUITED  LOVE      .        .        ...        .        .        .  130 

THE  LAKE  OF  YOUTH 141 

TO  A  SISTER,  WITH  A  PRESENT 144 

MARINTHA 145 

THE  MAGDALEN 147 

PARTING  WORDS               .' 149 

WILT  THOU  REMEMBER  ME? 151 

STANZA 152 


THE    TRAVELLER'S    DREAM, 


THE    TRAVELLER'S    DREA^L 


SLEEP  came  and  closed  the  trav'ler's  eyes 

Far  from  his  native   shore, 
And  in  his  dreams  he  was  at  home 

With  those  he  loved  once  more ; 
And  kindred   voices  fell  upon  his   ear, 
In  accents  soothing,  and  in  'tones  of  cheer. 

He  stood  at  his  own  cottage-door, 

And  saw  the  flowers  around, 
And  the  bright  streamlet,  as  it  passed, 

With  its  familiar  sound; 

And  caught  his  ear  the  music   of   the   breeze, 
As  it  passed  gently  through  the  old  roof-trees. 


18  THE    TRAVELLER'S    DREAM. 

The  honeysuckle's  breath,    it  seemed 

To  sweeten  all  the  air, 
And  the  dear  homestead  wore  a  smile, 

Such  as  it  used  to  wear; 

And  sweet  smiles  played  upon  the  sleeper's  face, 
As  in  his  dreams  he  saw  his  native  place. 

And  dreamed  he  that  he  sat  again 

By  his  own  cherished  hearth, 
And  children  that  seemed  unto  him 

The  loveliest  on  earth  — 

Because  they  were  his  own,  clung  to  his  knee, 
And  prattled  to  him  in  their  cliildish  glee. 

And  then  again,  as  thus  he  dreamed, 

The  sleeping  trav'ler  smiled, 
And  his  hand  moved  as  if   to  twirl 

The  ringlets  of   a  child; 
And  his  lips  moved  as  if   a  kiss  to  press 
Upon  some  brow  of   infant  loveliness. 

f 
And  more  than  this,  the  trav'ler  dreamed 

Of  one  far  dearer  still; 


THE    TRAVELLER'S    DREAM.  19 

Of  her  who  at  the  altar  vowed 

To  be   his  own   until 

Their  souls  should  taste   of   everlasting  life, 
The  mother  of   his   darling  babes,  his  wife. 

Sleep  took  her  weight  from  off  his  eyes, 

The   traveller  awoke ; 
He   was  a  wanderer   again, 

The   blissful  dream  was  broke  1 
"  I  was  so  happy,"   sighed   he,   "  while  I  slept," 
Far  from  his  home  and  all  he  loved,   he  wept. 

The   stars  looked  down   upon   his  grief, 

Stars  of   a  foreign  sky, 
And  they,  but  the  broad  waste,  were  all 

That  heard  the   trav'ler's  cry. 
No  wonder  that  he  wept;  their  light 
Told  him  of  eyes  that  used  to  shine  as  bright  I 

"  Alas ! "  he  cried,  "  this  is  the  meed 

The  traveller  receives, 
To  pine  for  rest  in  that  loved  home 

Which  far  behind  he  leaves ; 


20  THE    TRAVELLER'S    DREAM. 

To  only  taste   such   bliss  in  dreams,   and  then 
To  wake  and  be   a  wanderer  again ! 


"  My  heart  wings  over  waste  and  wave 
With  the  quick   speed  of   thought, 

For  I  have   found  the  trav'ler's  views 
Are   all  too   dearly  bought ! 

I've  gazed  on  many  a  ruined  town  and  pile  — 

What  sacrificed  for  it  ?   alas !  home's  smile." 


MY     FORTUNE. 

WHO  said  the  future  no  one  knows? 

The   thought  is  false   as  it  is  old ; 
I  know  the   very  day  I'll  die  — 

I've  been  and  had  my  fortune  told! 

t 

I  know,  too,  when  and  whom  I  '11  wed ; 

I  '11  meet  my  wife  within  a  year ; 
A  farmer's  daughter  she,   and  lives 

Not  more  than  twenty  miles  from  here. 

I  know,  although  we've  never  met, 

These  are  the  looks  that  she  doth  wear- 

Sharp  features,  peaked  nose  and  chin, 
A  freckled  face,  red  eyes  and  hair! 


22  MY     FORTUNE. 

Oar  married  life   will  be   all  smooth, 
No  sorrows  will  obscure  the  way  — 

But  oh  my  bonny  bride  must  die  ! 

One   year,  just,  from  our  wedding  day. 

Then    hope  and  joy  will  shed  no  light, 
No  more  I  '11  feel  but  grief   and  pain ; 

My  heart  will  be  a  sepulchre,, 
And  I  shall  never  wed  again. 

I  almost  wish  I  didn't  know 
Just  what  the  future  is   to  be; 

It  makes  me  sad  to  think  that  death 
So  soon  must  part   my  wife   and  me ! 

That  I  had  never  seen  the  hag 
Who  thus  my  future  path  revealed, 

Showing  the  thorns  and  brambles  there, 
"Which   God  in  wisdom  had  concealed. 

For,  knowing  now  what  is  to  come, 
When  drinking  of  the  cup  of  bliss, 


MY     FORTUNE.  23 

'  T  will  mar  the  sweetness  of  the  taste 
To  think,  "  there  are  dregs  of  woe  in  this !" 

And  when  my  fiftieth  birthday  nears  — 

That  is  the  time  I  am  to  die  — 
I  fear  my  soul  will  cling  to  earth, 

And  dread  to  feel  that  death  is  nigh. 

Therefore,  I  wish  I  didn't  know 

Just  what  the  future  is  to  be  — 
That  I  had  not  a  chance  to  dread 

The  sorrows  which  it  hath  for  me! 


STANZAS. 

OH!  let  me  die  in  the  calm,  still  night, 

When  the   lamps  of  heaven  are  burning  bright ; 

When  the   moon's  sweet  smile,   over  hill  and  dell, 

Rests  softly  down  with  a  magic  spell ; 

For  from  childhood's  morn,  it  has  been  my  delight 

To  commune   with  those   silent  orbs   at  night. 

And  many   a  lesson  they  've   taught  my  mind, 

Of   faith  in  the   Being   all-wise   and  kind. 

I  never  yet  gazed  on  the  heavens  afar, 
Of   a  cloudless  night,  but  each  twinkling  star 
Looked  down  on  me  with  an  angel's   smile, 
Which  said,   "  Weary  mortals,  a  little  while, 
A  little  while  longer  to  suffer  below, 
A  few  more   days  of   trouble    and  woe, 
Of   struggling  against  temptation  and  sin, 
And  heaven's  bright  gate  ye  shall  enter    in ! " 


STANZAS.  25 

And  it   seems  to  me,   when  I  gaze   on   high, 

And  see  those   bright  worlds  shining  thick  in   the   sky, 

That  they  must  have  been  made  for  an  end  more  wise, 

Than  to  dazzle   and  please  our  mortal  eyes. 

It  seems  to  me  that  when  life  ends  here, 

And  the  soul   finds  wings  in  another  sphere, 

It   has  only  to  wish,  through  the   endless  air, 

To  fly  to  some  star,  and  it  shall  be  there! 

Then  let  me  die   in  the  calm,   still  night, 
When   the   lamps  of  heaven   are   burning  bright ! 
Draw   my  dying  couch  to  the   window  nigh, 
And  let  me  gaze   up  in  the   starry  sky, 
So  I  shall  -not  think  of   the   grave's  dark   bed, 
But  of   brighter  worlds  where   I  soon  shall  tread; 
And  if  fears  arise,  it  will  set  them  at  rest, 
And  make  the  death-angel  a  pleasant  guest ! 


GONE     TO    DWELL    IN    HEAVEN. 

DEATH  has  claimed  our  little  Corrie, 

Set  his   signet  on   her  brow, 
And  her  cheeks  that  were   like  cherries, 

Are  as  pale  as  marble   now ! 
We  have  robed  her  in  white  garments, 

Pure  and  spotless,  for  the  grave, 
And  one   little  golden   ringlet 

Is  the  most  that  we  can  save ! 


We  have  crossed  her  white  hands  meekly 
O'er  her  little  pulseless  breast, 

And  they   soon  will  lay  her  lowly 
'  Neath  the  churchyard  sod  to  rest ! 


GONE     TO     DWELL     IN     HEAVEN.  27 

And  we've   closed  her  eyelids  gently 

O'er  the   dim  and  glassy  eyes, 
For  the  soul  that  gave  them  brightness 

Now  has  soared  bejond  the  skies! 


Yes,  beyond  the  sky  —  to  heaven, 

Our  dear  darling's  soul  hath  fled; 
Tell  me   not  that  she   has   perished, 

Tell  me  not  that  she  is  dead; 
For  I  know   that  she  is  living 

Where   the  happy  angels  dwell; 
It  is  but  her  spirit's  clay-house 

We  must  lay  down  in  the  dell. 


Yes,  she's  gone  to  dwell  in  heaven, 

Little    Corrie,  loved   and  fair, 
And  no  more  shall  we  behold  her 

Till  we  go  to  meet  her  there. 
Through  our  weary,  weary  journey, 

O'er  this  sorrow-clouded  shore, 
We  shall  never  see  the  smiling 

Of  her  sweet  face  any  more! 


28  GONE      TO      DWELL      IN      HEAVEN. 

But  when  life   on   earth  is   over, 

In  our  Father's  dwelling-place, 
We   will  gaze   again  with  rapture 

On  our  little  Corrie's  face ! 
There   we'll  press  her  to  our  bosoms, 

And  will  kiss   her  cheeks   once  more, 
And,   with  hand  in  hand,   forever 

We  will  roam  the   spirit-shore! 


THIS    WORLD    IS    BEAUTIFUL    TO    ME. 

Tins  world  is  beautiful  to  me, 

This  beautiful   world  of   ours, 
With  grassy  carpet,  soft  and  green, 

Figured  with  brilliant  flowers; 
And  trees  that  break  the   outline   rough, 

Of   hill  and  vale   and  sky, 
Making  them  all  in  softness  blend, 

As  light  and  shade  o'erlie. 

This  world  is  beautiful  to  me, 

With  silver  streams  that  sweep 
So  broadly,  proudly,  stately  on, 

To  marry  with  the  deep ; 
And  over  all  the  arching  sky, 

Tinted  so  softly  blue, 
Where  sunset  paints  the  fleecy  clouds 

With  such  a  gorgeous  hue! 


30  THIS    -WORLD     IS     BEAUTIFUL     TO     ME. 

This  world  is  beautiful  to  me, 

And  never  do  I  gaze 
Upon  the  blooming  landscape  round, 

But  -what  I  feel  to  praise 
The  Infinitely  Wise,  who  made 

This  world  of   ours  so  bright, 
And  gave,  beside  all  that  we  need, 

All  that  can  please  the  sight. 

And  if   a  world  more  beautiful 

Than  this  above  is  seen, 
O'ercanopied  and  carpeted 

With  softer  blue  and  green, 
I  scarce  would  dare  to  fly  to  it, 

So  dazzling  it  must  be ; 
Oh,  this  delightful  world  of   ours 

Is  fair  enough  for  me ! 


I    SAID    I    WOULD    FORGET    THEE. 


I  SAID  I  would  forget  thee, 

I  said  I  would  forget 
How  much  my  heart  was  given 

Into  thy  keeping  yet; 
And  then  I  would  be   happy 

As  if  I  'd  loved  thee  not ; 
Long  years  since   then   have   vanished, 

But  thou  art  not  forgot ! 


I  said  I  would  forget  thee, 
And  with  heart  light  and  free, 

Join  once  more  with  the  merry, 
In  halls  of  revelry; 


32  I    SAID     I     WOULD     FORGET     THEE. 

And  in    the  lordly   mansion, 

And  in  the  lowly   cot, 
I  've  joined  in  mirth  and  revel, 

But  thou  art  not  forgot ! 

In  vain  has  been  the  conflict  — 

The  struggle  to  forget 
The   songs  -which  thou  hast  sung  me, 

The  hours  that  we  have  mot; 
And  till  my  heart,   which  throbbeth 

For  thee  alone,  beats  not — 
Till  it  is  hushed  forever, 

Thou  canst  not  be  forgot! 


A    REQUIEM. 

REST,  brother,  rest!  no  more  wilt  thou  be  weary, 
Thy  hands  no  more  will  labor  here  with  ours ; 
For  thou  hast  found  that  land  that  grows  not  dreary, 
Where   fade   not  flowers ! 

Rest,  brother,   rest !    rest   evermore   from  sorrow, 
Rest  evermore  from  pain   and  sin   and  care ; 
Where  life  is  one  long  day  that  brings  no  morrow, 
Rest,  brother,  there ! 

Rest,  brother,  rest!  thy  feet  no  more  forever 

Shall  roam  the  thorny  path  which   thou  hast  trod; 
Where  life,  and  joy,  and  pleasure  endeth  never, 
Rest  thee  with   God! 


34  A     REQUIEM. 

Rest,  brother,  rest!  thine  eyes  have  ceased  from  weeping, 

Thine  ears  have  ceased  discordant  sounds  to  hear: 
Where  grief  no  more  her  lonely  watch  is  keeping, 
Rest,  loved  and  dear. 

Rest,  brother,  rest!  the  burning  tears  we  shower 

Upon  the  sod  that  lies  upon  thy  breast, 
Thou  heedest  not;    nor  hath  the  whole  world  power 
To  break  thy  rest. 

Rest,  brother,  rest !  how  often  shall  we  miss  thee, 
When  we  are  gathered  round  the  ingle-flame : 
How  oft  in  vain  the  lips  that  used  to  kiss  thee, 
Shall  call  thy  name ! 

And  oh !  how  oft  we  '11  long  for  that  bright   hour, 

When  God  shall  raise  the  screen  'tween  us  and  heaven, 
That  we  may  fly  to  meet  where  no  more  power 
To  Death  is  given. 

Rest,  brother,  rest !  we  're  coming  soon  to  meet  thee 

In  that  bright  world  where  thou   art  so  much  blest : 

Gloom  must  hang  o'er  our  hearts  till  there  we  greet  thee  ; 

Rest,  brother,  rest! 


DEATH. 


DEATH'S  step  is  soft;  and  when  we  little  think 
That  such  a  monster  can  be  creeping  by, 

We   stand  upon   the  grave's  dark,   awful  brink, 
And  know   not  that  our  journey's  end  is  nigh. 

As  trees  that  might  see  ages  pass  away, 
At  once  are  shattered  by  the  lightning's  blow, 

E'en  thus,  when   least  expected,   death   may  lay 
The   strong,  the   healthful  and  the  blooming  low. 

Then,   mortal  man,   so  live  from  day   to  day, 
That  Death  —  come  when  or  how  he  will  —  may 

find 

Thee  ready  and  prepared  to  go  away 
To  realms  beyond  the  grave,  unknown  to  mortal 
mind. 


WHERE    THERE'S    A    WILL,   THERE    IS 
A    WAY." 

YE   youth  whose  hearts  are   beating  high, 

With  longings  for  the  battle   strife,  — 
Who    for  the  heated  contest  sigh, 

The   contest  in  the   field   of  life,  — 
Go  forth  with  patience  in   your  mood, 

Though  hope's  light  giveth   scarce   a  ray, 
Remembering  that  old  adage  good, 

Where  there 's  a  will,  there   is   a  way. 

Though  many  troubles  hang  around, 

Or  in   the  path  before   ye   lie, 
With  courage  go,   and  they  '11  be  found, 

As  ye   approach,   to   rise   and  fly. 
And  unto  what  Despondency, 

Or  trembling  Fear,   or  Doubt  may   say, 
Reply,   "  I  will  not  list  to  ye ! " 

Where   there's  a  will,   there  is   a  way. 


WHERE    THERE 's    A   WILL,  THERE   IS   A    WAY. 

And  if  you  're  asked  what  failing  means, 

Or  what  it  is  to  cease  to  try, 
Crowd  to  your  eyes  their  fiercest  beams, 

And  answer,   that  it  means  to   die! 
As  failing,   there  is   no  such  thing, 

If  ye   but  strive,  and  watch,  and  pray,  — 
If  ye  go  forth  remembering 

Where  there's   a   will,  there  is  a  way. 

Go  thus,  hot  youth !  to  battle,   go,  — 

Your  longings   are   not  all  in   vain; 
But  if  ye   firmly  meet  the   foe, 

The  victory  ye  '11  surely  gain ! 
And  unto  what  Despondency, 

Or  trembling  Fear,  or  Doubt  may   say, 
Reply,   "I  will  not  list  to  ye!" 

Where  there  'a  a  will,  there  is  a  way ! 


JENNY     DALE. 

BENEATH  the  churchyard  turf   and  flowers, 

All  cold,  and  still,   and  pale, 
Lies  one  I  loved  in  by-gone  hours, 

The   fair  young  Jenny  Dale ! 

She  died  ere   scarce  a  shade  of  care 
Had  touched  her  little   heart, — 

She  knew  not  what  it  was,  to  bear 
Affliction's  painful  smart. 

And  now  the  wild  birds  come   and  sing 

Above  her  little  grave ; 
The  breezes  there  their  music   bring, 

And  wild  flowers  o'er  her  wave. 

And  I  am  often  there  alone, 
To  think  of  her  and  weep ; 


JENXT    DALE.  39 

And  there  the  low  winds  seem  to  moan, 
"Why  did'st  thou  fall  asleep?" 

Yet  I  would  not  recall  her  form 

From  yon  bright  land  of  bliss> 
To  brave   again  life's  wintry  storm, 

In  such  a  world  as  this. 

No!  let  her  dwell  on  that  bright  shore, 

From  every  sorrow  free ; 
I  would  not  have  her  come  once  more, 

To  tread  life's  path  with  me. 

For  she  is  happier  there,  I  know, 

Where  bright-winged  angels  dwell, 
Than  I  could  make  her  here  below; 

Sweet  Jenny  Dale,    farewell! 

O  sleep,  sleep  on,  my  Jenny  dear, 

Beneath  the  flowery  sod; 
Though  sadly  do  I  miss  thee  here, 

Soon  we  shall  meet  with   God. 


LIFE    AND    DEATH. 

THIS  life  is  but  a  day,   a  fleeting  day, 

Spent  at  the  doorstead  of  eternity ; 

For  earth  is  but  the  portal  of  that  fair 

And  glorious  mansion  where  our  Father  dwells. 

We   linger  on  the   door-step  for  awhile, 

A  few  short,  precious  hours  —  and  this  is  life! 

And  then  we  take  a  step,   a  little   step 

Across  the  threshold  of   the  house,   to  dwell 

Forever  more  within  —  and  this  is  death! 

Yet,   transient  as  it  is,  this  life  was  not 
By   God  bestowed  upon   us   all  in  vain. 
Oh,   no ;  the  time   allotted  us  on   earth 
Is  given  to  us  for  great  purposes. 


LIFE     A3TD     DEATH.  41 

Not  to  win  honor,  titles,  power,  wealth, 

Or  we  could  take  them  with  us  through  the   door; 

But  to  win  all  that  we  can  carry  hence  — 

The  treasures  of  the   soul.     'T  is  given  us 

That  we  might  better  be  prepared  for  heaven, 

By  tasting  life   as  it  is  here  —  this  life 

Of   pain   and  sorrow.     Only  thus  could  we 

Eternal  bliss  learn  to  appreciate. 

And  it  is  given  us  to  train  the  mind, 

The  immortal  soul  that  never  dies  —  that  we, 

When  our  probation   shall  be   ended  here, 

May  enter  heaven  with  germinated  soul. 

Prepared  to  grow  in  that  immortal  clime. 

Then  labor  well  thy  mission  to  fulfil, 

Lest  you  should  go  and  leave  it  all  undone. 

Oh,   think  that  life  is  but  a  fleeting  day, — 

That  you  are  e'en  now  standing  at  the  door 

Which  opens  into  heaven !     Only  one  step 

To  your  eternal  home!  and  oh!  that  step 

May  soon  be  taken,  none  can  tell  how  soon. 

To-morrow,  or  perhaps  to-day  will  be 

The  last  day  you  shall  linger  here  on  earth; 


42  LIFE     AND     DEATH. 

And  but  a  little  while,  at  most,  we  know, 
Is  given  us  to  do  our  labor  here. 
Oh,  then,  at  any  time  be  thou  prepared, 
Frail  man,  to  take  the  involuntary  step 
Across  the  threshold  of  eternity ! 


OH,  CENSURE  NOT  YOUR  BROTHER  MAN. 

OH,  CENSURE   not  your  brother  man 

Because  of  his  belief; 
A  voice  has  reached  his  ear,  perchance, 

To  which  your  own  was  deaf. 
And  many  a  tenet  may  be  true, 
Although  it  seemeth  wrong  to  you. 

A  strain  of  music  over  you 

May  have  a  charming  spell, 
While  some  may  hear  no  sweetness  in't, 

Or  love  it  not  so  well. 
Their  ears  were  never  made  to  hear 
The  strains  you  think  so  sweet  and  clear. 

A  little  flower  to  you  may  seem 
Most  beautiful  and  sweet, 


44       OH,    CENSURE    NOT    YOTJB    BROTHER    MAN. 

While   others,  to  its  beauty   blind, 

Would  crush  it  'neath  their  feet. 
Their  eyes  were  never  made   to  view 
The  beauty  that 's  revealed  to  you. 

You  cannot  reach  all  hearts  the  same, 

Whate'er  your   skill  or  tact; 
For   God  made  not  his  children   all, 

Alike  to  think  and  act. 
What  gives  one  joy  and   happiness, 
May  give   another  pain,   distress. 

Then  censure  not  your  brother  man 

Because  of   his  belief; 
A    voice  has  reached  his   ear,  perchance, 

To  which  your  own  was  deaf. 
And  many   a  tenet  may  be  true, 
Although  it  seemeth  wrong  to  you. 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

How   full  the   thoughts  of   pleasure 
That  when  this  life  is  o'er, 

Each  lovely  human  treasure 

That  is  ours  on  earth  no  more,     . 

We   shall  meet  again  in  heaven, 

•  Where  they  never,  never  die  ; 

That  eternity  shall  measure 
That  meeting  in  the   sky! 

And  how  full  the  thoughts  of  pleasure, 

That  when  we  meet  them  there, 
We'  11  be  safely  moored  forever 

Beyond  the  reach  of  care ; 
That  our  hearts  shall  know   no  longer 

Sorrow,   suffering  or  fear, 
And  our  path  be  one  of  flowers, 

Through  the  never-ending  year! 


DYING,    PERCHANCE. 

O'ER  the  long  space  that  parts  us,  mother, 

Would  I  could  fly  to-day, 
To  cheer  thy  fond  and  loving  heart, 

And  drive   thy  pain  away ; 
For  thou   art   on   a  bed  of   pain, 

Disease   hath  bleached  thy  brow, 
And  while   I  roam  so  far  away, 

Perchance  thou  'rt   dying  now ! 

Dying,   perchance  —  oh  !   mad'ning  thought  — 

I  must  fly  unto  thee ! 
What  if  the  lips  that  taught  mine   own 

Should  speak  no  more  to  me !  — 


DYING,     PERCHANCE.  47 

The  robin   on   my  window-bough 

His  blithesome  matin   sings; 
He   knows  not  how  he  pains   my  heart — 

Hush,  bird !  lend  me  thy  wings ! 

Nay,  fly  thou !  for  some  swifter  way 

My  mad'ning  heart  must  find, 
Oh !   give   me   wings  to  fly  like   light, 

Or  thought  across  the   mind ! 
Nay,  swifter!  these  are  all  too  slow! 

As  prayer  speeds  up  above, 
So,  mother !  would  I  fly  to  thee, 

And  heal  thee  with  my  love ! 


A    HYMN    OF    THANKS. 

0  THOU  great   God,  whose  mighty  power 
Hath  filled  the   sky  with  countless   spheres, 

To  thee  I  bring  for  this  glad  hour 
An   offering  of   grateful  tears. 

And  those   which  now   suffuse  my  eyes, 
Thou  know  'st   are  but  a   little  part 

Of   the   deep  fountain   whence   they  rise, 
The    fulness  of   my  thankful  heart. 

My  bosom   sea  grew  dark   and  rough, 
Within   how  fearful  was  the   night! 

1  cannot  thank  thee,  Lord,  enough 
For  making  it  so  calm  and  bright. 

Accept  the   tribute  which   I  bring 
For  thy  kind  mercy  here   below, 

And  teach  me   sweeter  praise  to   sing, 
And  deeper  love  for  thee   to  know. 


ALBUM    TRIBUTE. 

I   ASK  not  friend,   (because   'tis  vain) 

Joy  o'er  thy  path  may  always   shine ; 
Pleasure   on   earth  is  mixed  with  pain, 

And  such  a   cup,   I  know,  is  thine. 
All  I  would  ask  is  this:  that  He 

Who  gives  the  bitter  and  the   sweet, 
May  give  thee  strength,  when  pleasures  flee, 

Life's  cold  and  adverse  storms  to  meet. 

Oh,  it  is  kindness  in  our    God, 
While  exiled  here  on  earth  we  roam, 

To  chasten  sometimes  with  his  rod, 
To  tell  us  this  is  not  our  home; 


50  ALBUM    TRIBUTE. 

To  make  us  look  beyond  this  life, 
To  that  bright  realm  of  endless  day, 

Where  all  unknown  are  care  and  strife, 
And  joy  and  hope  fade   not  away ! 

Then  do  not,  friend,   bow  down  thy  head  — 

When  sorrow  cometh  —  to  the  dust; 
But  lift  thine   eyes  —  though  joy  hath  fled  — 

Above,  with   still  unfaltering  trust; 
And  pray,  though  hope  seems   not  to  live, 

A  brighter  day  will   soon  be  given ; 
So  shall  e'en  grief  some  pleasure  give, 

And  thou   shalt  learn  the  way  to  Heaven. 


I    WOULD    NOT    CALL    THEE    MINE. 

FAREWELL!  thy  hand  I  would  not  take, 

Unless  the  gift  contained  thy  heart; 
Far  better  for  each  other's  sake, 

To  wear  life's  galling  chain  apart. 
I  love  thee,  worship  thee !  but  still, 

If  deep  within   that  heart  of  thine, 
My  passion  wakes  no  answering  thrill, 

I  would  not  wish  to  call  thee  mine ! 


Without  thee,  life  will  be  a  waste, 
My  heart  of  every  pleasure  void, — 

E'en  bliss,  though  offered  to  the  taste, 
Without  thee  cannot  be  enjoyed. 


52  I     WOULD     NOT     CALL     THEE     MINE. 

But  since  my  love  availeth  not, 
Doth  in  thy  soul  no  echo  wake, 

I  would  not  have  thee  share  my  lot  — 
Oh,  better  that  my  heart  should  break ! 

Farewell!  though  it  is  death  to  part; 

Farewell !  *  tis  more  than  death  to  me ; 
I  cannot  teach  my  self-willed  heart, 

To  beat  for  any  one  but  thee ! 
And  yet,  though  doomed  to  love  thee   still, 

Since   deep  within  that  heart  of  thine, 
My  passion  wakes  no  answering  thrill, 

I  would  not  wish  to  call  thee  mine! 


DEPAETED    GENIUS. 

EARTH!  from  thy  sphere  is  taken 
A  mind  that   beamed  with  genius'  brilliant  rays; 
A  spirit  filled  with  a  mysterious  light, 
Which  made  this  mortal  shore  more  fair  and  bright; 

A  soul  that  could  awaken 

Strains  to  enchant  the  world,  and  win  its  glorious 
praise. 

His  was  the  poet's  vision : 
To  him  the  face  of  Nature  wore  no  veil: 
Where,  unto  others,  was  but  deepest  gloom, 
He  saw  a  lovely  paradise  in  bloom, 

And  heard  sweet  tones  Elysian, 
Where  others  heard  no  sound  except  an  earthly  wail. 

And  his  the  magic  power 

To  paint  to  mortals  with  the  brush  of  thought, 
The   beauteous  visions  of  the  world  on  high, 
Which  Muse  revealed  unto  his  poet-eye;  — 


54  DEPARTED     GENIUS. 

To  give  man  precious  dower, 
In  form  of  heavenly  songs  his  ear  from  angels  caught. 

Weep,  Earth!  that  he  is  taken 
So  soon  away.    Upon  his  noble  brow 
Time  sat  as  lightly  as  untrodden  snow, 
That  clothed  the  fields  but  one  short  hour  ago; 

Yet  death's  strong  wind  hath  shaken 
The  young  and  blooming  tree ;  it  lieth  prostrate  now ! 

Kneel  at  your  altars  weeping, 
Ye  who  with  rapture  gave  his  song  an  ear ; 
Go  to  your  duties  with  a  saddened  heart, 
That  worth  and  genius  should  so  soon  depart; 

So  soon  in  death  be  sleeping  — 
That  calm  and  stirless  sleep,  no  more  to  charm  us  here. 

Yet  hoping  that  when  riven 
Are  all  the  ties  that  bind  us  to  this  shore  — 
When  Death's  cold  hand  shall  put  our  h'mbs  in  chains, 
And  freeze  the  blood  now  warm  within  our  veins, 

We  may  meet  him  in  heaven, 
And  feel  a  joyous  thrill  to  hear  his  song  once  more. 


THE    BITTEREST    CUP. 

NOT  the  weeping  mourner, 

Not  the  child  of  want ; 
Not  the  suffering  martyr, 

The  object  of  scorn  and  taunt; 
Not  the  love-forsaken, 

Not  the  one  who  sups 
Deep  of  disappointment, 

Drinketh  the  bitterest  cup. 

Not  the  ruined  tradesman, 

Not  the  penniless; 
Not  the  one  whom  Fortune 

Never  turns  to  bless; 
Not  the  one  who,  striving 

Fame's  hill  to  go  up, 
Meeteth  but  repulses, 

Drinketh  the  bitterest  cup. 


56  THE     BITTEKEST    CUP. 

Not  the  helpless  orphan, 

Left  on  earth  alone ; 
Not  the  one  who  heareth 

Never  friendship's  tone; 
Not  the   one  who  suffers 

Painful,  long  disease, 
Drinketh  the  cup  most  bitter  — 

No,  not  such  as  these. 

But  the  one  whose  conscience 

Feels  the  sting  of  crime, 
And  must  feel  its  burden 

Through   all  coming  time, — 
He  whose  darkened  bosom 

Ne'er  shall  be  lighted  up 
By  innocence  or  peace   again, 

Drinketh  the  bitterest  cup. 


NEVER    COURT    BUT    ONE. 

I  HAVE  finished  it,  —  the  letter 

That  will  tell  him  he  is  free; 
From  this  moment,  and  forever, 

He  is  nothing  more  to  me ! 
And  my  heart  feels  lighter,  gayer, 

Since  the  deed  at  last  is  done; 
It  will  teach  him  that  when  courting, 

He  should  never  court  but  one ! 


Everybody  in  the  village 
Knows  he's  beena-wooing  me, 

And  this  morning  he  was  riding 
With  that  saucy  Anna  Leel 


58  NEVER     COTJET     BUT     ONE. 

And  they   say  he  smiled  upon  her 
As  he  cantered  by  her  side;  — 

I  will  warrant  you  he  promised 
To  make  her  soon  his  bride ! 


But  I've  finished  it,  —  the  letter; 

From  this  moment  he  is  free  — 
He  may  have  her  if  he  wants  her, 

If  he  loves  her  more  than  me. 
He   may  go  —  it  will  not  kill  me  — 

I  would  say  the  same,  so  there, 
If  I  knew  it  would;  for  flirting  — 

It  is  more  than  I  can  bear! 


It  is  twilight,   and  the  evening 

That  he  said  he  'd  visit  me ; 
But  no  doubt  he 's  now  with   Anna  • 

He  may  stay  there,  for  all  me! 
And  as  true   as  I'm  a-living, 

If  he  ever  comes  here  more, 
I  will  act  as  if  we  never, 

Never,  never  met  before! 


NEVER    COUKT     BUT     ONE.  59 

It  is  time  he  should  be  coming, 

And  I  wonder  if  he  will? 
If  he  does,  I'll  look  so  coldly  — 

What's  that  shadow  on  the  hill? 
I  declare,  out  in  the  twilight, 

There  is  some  one  coming  near — 
Can  it  be? — yes,  'tis  his  figure, 

Just  as  true  as  I  am  here ! 


Now,  I  almost  wish  I  'd  written 

Not  to  him  that  he  was  free, 
For,  perhaps,  'twas  but  a  story 

That  he  rode  with  Anna  Lee. 
There  !  he 's  coming  through  the  gateway, 

I  will  meet  him  at  the  door, 
And  I'll  tell  him  still  I  love  him — 

If  he  '11  court  Miss  Lee  no  more ! 


THE    GIRLS    WE    LOVE    THE    BEST. 

AN    IMPROMPTU. 

HERE  'a  health  to  the  girls,  the  beautiful  girls, 

Who  make  the  world  so  blest ;  — 
Especially  to  those  fair  ones 

Whom  of  all  we  love  the  best. 
Without  them,  oh!  who  could  be  glad, 

Or   contented  with  their  lot? 
Even  heaven  itself,  without  the  girls, 

Would  be  a  wretched  spot ! 

Oh,  bless  the  Lord  that  Adam's  rib 

Was  ever  taken  out; 
For  we  can  all  forget    our  cares, 

If  the  girls  are  but  about ! 
Their  sunny  smiles  send  light  and  warmth 

To  every  heart  and  breast; 
Then  here 's  a  health,   a  joyous  health, 

To  the  girls  we  love  the  best! 


PROSPERITY    AND    ADVERSITY. 


WHEN  the  brilliant  sun  is  shining 
O'er  the  hill,  and  o'er  the  lea; 

When  his  rays  are  gayly  dancing 
Everywhere,  we  do  not  see 

Worlds  and  systems  brightly  gleaming, 
Twinkling  in  the   distant  blue ; 

But  when  day  no  more  is  beaming, 
Heaven  seems  opened  to  our  view! 

Thus  with  life;  when  joy  and  gladness 

Fill  the  overflowing  heart; 
When  no  forms  of  care  and  sadness 

In  life's  drama  bear  a  part, — 


62  PROSPERITY     AND     ADVERSITY. 

We're  forgetful  of  the  treasures 
Heaven  upon  us  can  bestow, 

And  think  only  of  the  pleasures 
We  may  here  enjoy  below. 

But  wh,en  storms  of  pain  and  sorrow 
Darkly  shroud  enjoyment's  light ; 

When  despair  hangs  o'er  the  morrow, 
And  our  way  seems  black  as  night ; 

Then  we  turn  from  earthly  visions, 
To  the  fount  of  heavenly  bliss, 

And  the  soul  looks  from  its  prison 
To  a  brighter  world  than  this! 


OUR    PARTING.— TO    NETTIE. 

I  THOUGHT  not  when  we  parted 

At  the  little  cottage  door, 
Such  long,  long  years  would  vanish 

Before  we  met  once  more; 
But  I  felt  a  strange,  sad  feeling, 

Which  I  did  not  understand, 
As  I  said,  "Good-by,  dear  Nettie," 

And  took  your  proffered  hand. 

To  my  eyes  there  came  the  teardrops, 
To  my  heart  there  came  a  pain, 

But  I  knew  not  'twas  a  boding 
That  we  should  not  meet  again  I 


64  OUR     PABTLSTG.  —  TO     NETTIE. 

Now  I  know  why  't  was  I  lingered, 
Gazing  sadly  in  your  face, 

As  if  within  my  heart-shrine, 
I  would  every  feature  trace. 


Oh!  eve*o  now  I'm  weeping 

To  live  that  parting  o'er, 
For  I  wander  back  in  fancy, 

And  we  're   standing   at  the   door ; 
And  your  hand  again  I'm  pressing, 

And  again  I  say,  "  Good-by, " 
But  I  feel  now  we  are  parting 

Even  for  eternity ! 


It  is  o'er ;  again  we  've  parted, 

And  upon  life's  dreary  main, 
Far  apart  our  barks  are  drifting, 

To  never  meet  again  ; 
But  the  same  bright  haven,   Nettie, 

Shall  be  ours,  I  know,  at  last  — 
I  shall  meet  thee,  I  shall  meet  thee, 

When  this  dreary  main  is  past ! 


OUR  PARTING.  —  TO   NETTIE.  65 

Dost  remember  how  in  childhood 

I  gathered  flowers  for  thee? 
Unfading  ones  I'll  bring  thee 

Where  our    meeting  next  shall  be ! 
'Twill  be  where  there  is  no  parting, 

Where   we   no  more   shall  sigh; 
And  till  then,   my  dear  friend  Nettie, 

Till  then,  good-by,  good-by! 


MY    BROTHER'S    GRAVE. 

Do   you  know  the  spot    where  my  brother  sleeps  ? 

Have   you  seen  the  willow   that  o'er  him  weeps  ^ 

"Tis  a  lovely  spot,   and  it  is  my  prayer, 

And  my  wish,  kind  friends,  to  be  buried  there. 

I  remember  how,  in  the  days  gone  by, 

All  my  sadness  would  flee  when  his  form  came  nigh ; 

But   alas !    death  came,   and  he   passed  away, 

Like  the   shades  of   twilight  at  close   of  day. 

And   now  he   sleeps  'neath  the   willow  tree, 

And  there,  kind  friends,   you  must  bury  me. 

Oh !   sacred  to  me  is  that  little   mound 
Where  my  brother  sleeps,  in  the  churchyard-ground ; 
Aud  I  wander    oft  when  the  night  draws  near, 
To  water  its  dust  with  the  bitter  tear ; 


MY    BROTHER'S    GRAVE.  (T7 

Yet  I  'd  not  recall  to  this  tainted  earth, 

His   spirit  to  dwell  by  our  fireside-hearth ; 

For  I  know   he 's  gone   to  a  brighter  shore, 

AVhere  the  soul  may  rest,  and  they  weep  no  more ; 

And  where  —  sweet  to  think  —  when  this  life  is  past, 

To  part  no  more,  we  shall  meet  at  last. 

Ah  me !   how  my  heart  bows   down  with  woe, 

When,   as  twilight  falls  o'er  his  grave,   I  go 

And  sit  there   under  the   willow   tree, 

That  bends  o'er  the  headstone  mournfully, 

To  think  of  the  days  that  will  ne'er  come  back, 

And  of  him  who  has  fled  from  life's  thorny  track ! 

But   I  love   to  think   that  when  life  is   past, 

I  shall  come   and  lie   by  his  side   at  last; 

Then  remember  it  is  my  fervent  prayer, 

And  my  wish,  kind  friends,   to  be  buried  there ! 


"CAST  THY  BREAD  UPON  THE 
WATERS." 

CAST  thy  bread  upon  the  waters, 

And  it  will  not  be  in  vain ; 
God   will  note  the   act  of  kindness, 

And  return   it  all   again. 
Yes,  when  thou,  perchance,  dost  need  it, 

He  '11  return  it  triple-fold ; 
And  the  joy  such  deeds  will  bring  thee  — 

It  can  never  half  be  told. 

Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters, 
And  the  glorious   Giver  praise ; 

For  he   will  return  it  to  thee, 
"  After  many,  many  days." 


"CAST  THY  BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS."   69 

God  will  bless  the  man  who  giveth 

To  the   needy   and  the   poor. 
And  who  to  the   helpless  orphan, 

Opens  wide  his  heart  and  door. 

Though  thy  treasure  be  but  little, 

Of  that  little  give  a  part.; 
Heaven  will  look  not  on  its  value, 

But  the   motive  in  thy  heart. 
Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters, 

And  it  will   not  be  in  vain; 
God  will  note  the  act  of  kindness, 

And  return  it  all  again. 


EVA    MOORE. 


IN  the  garden  bower  was  sitting 

Eva  Moore,   and  by  her    side 
Allan   Gray,  who  on   the  morrow 

Was  to  claim  her  as  his  bride. 
Said  he,  "  Shall  we  not  be  happy, 

Shall  we  not  be  happy,  sweet? 
Time  will  only  scatter  flowers, 

Thornless  flowers  beneath  our  feet. 

And  she  answered,   "  Oh,   so  happy, 
Folded  in  each  other's  love ; 

All  our  life  will  seem  a  foretaste 
Of   a  brighter  one   above  ! " 


EVA   MOORE.  71 

Oh!    'twas  well  that  happy   Eva 
Could  not  ope  the  future's  door, 

And  behold  how   soon  her  pathway 
Was  to  be  all  clouded  o'er. 

Since  the  eve  they  sat  together 

In  the  bower  a  year  hath  fled, 
And  poor   Eva  Moore  is  weeping, 

For  her   Allan  lieth   dead ! 
One   short  year  they  have  been  happy, 
"Folded  in  each  other's  love;" 
Now  their  paths  by  fate  are  severed, 

One  below  and  one  above. 

Such  is  life;    the  happy  bridal 

Oft  is  near  the   mournful  tomb; 
And  the  brightest  hour  of  pleasure, 

Near  the  darkest  hour  of  gloom; 
But  'tis  wise  and  kind  in  Heaven, 

That  we  cannot  ope  the  door, 
And  behold,  far  in  the    future, 

Where  the  clouds  must  gather  o'er! 


THE    COT    AM)    THE    MILL. 

HAVE  you  seen  the  cot  and  the  old  gray  mill, 
That  stand  at  the  foot  of  a  rock-ribbed  hill? 
Have  you  seen  the  poplars  towering  high, 
On  the  banks  of  the  river  which  wanders  by  ? 
Have  you  seen  the   dam  where  the  waters  pour  ? 
And  the  garden  and  lawn  before  the  door  ? 
That  beautiful  spot  is  my  childhood's  home, 
And  I'll  cherish  it  still,  wherever  I  roam. 

There  I  have  planted  and  watched  with  care 
Sweet  flowers  that  scented  the  summer  air; 
There  I  have  roamed  in  sweet,  childish  glee, 
With  playmates  dear,  over  hill  and  lea; 


THE     COT     AST)     THE    MILL.  73 

There  I  was  wont  in  my  youth  to  rejoice 

At  my  mother's  smile,   and  my  father's  voice ; 

And   there   (alas !   we   shall  meet  no  more,) 

With   my  brothers  I  played  on  the  lawn   at  the  door! 


Far,  far  from  that  spot  I  roam  to-day, 
Where  the   breezes  of   summer  forever  play; 
Where   the   trees  are  covered  with  tropical  bloom, 
And  the   air  is  laden  with  sweet  perfume ; 
But  my  heart  wings  over  the  waste  between, 
And  fondly  broods  down  o'er  that  cherished  scene. 
And  I  never  shall  cease  to  love  that  spot, 
Till  the  time  shall  come  when  my  heart  beats  not! 


THE    PLAIN    TRUTH. 


You  watch  your   neighbor's   actions 

More  than  you  do  your  own ; 
You  cannot,  or  you  will  not, 

Let  his  affairs  alone ! 
In   short,  your  neighbor's  business, 

Which  none   concerneth   you, 
You  meddle  with  till  yours 

Is  wholly  out  of   view ! 

You  see  your  neighbor's  failings, 
But  cannot  see  your  own, 

And  think  that  you  are  worthy 
To  cast  at  him  the  stone; 


THE     PLAIN    TRUTH.  75 

But  if   you'd  wipe   your  mirror 

Till  you  yourself   could  see, 
You'd  find  you're   quite   as  erring, 

And  full  of  faults  as  he. 


The  way  you  judge  a  person, 

Is  by  the  cloth  he  wears ; 
You   never  stop  to  notice 

The   inward  heart  he  bears; 
But  if  his  dress   is  seedy, 

Or  growing  old  and  torn, 
You  pass  him   by  unnoticed, 

Or  look  at  him  with  scorn. 


But  if  he  has  fine  garments, 

And  wears  a  golden  chain, 
You  hesitate  no  longer 

That  person  to  ordain 
A  gentleman ;  you  praise  him, 

You  laud  him  to  the  skies; — 
No  matter,  if  he  dresses, 

If  he   is  n't  good   and   wise ! 


76  THE     PLAIX     TRUTH. 

You  feel  yourself  above  those 

Not  quite  so  rich  as  you 
Too  proud  to   call  him  brother, 

Whose  hard-earned  dimes  are  few. 
But  one   word  in   your  ear,  sir, 

It  may  be,   by  and  by  — 
For  fortune's  wheel  keeps     turning  — 

You'll  be  low  and  he  be  high! 


ALL    ALONE    TO-DAY    I    WANDER. 

ALL  alone  to-day  I  wander 

In  the   orchard  —  it  is  May, 
And  the  apple-trees  are  blooming, 

And  the   earth  is  blithe  and  gay; 
But  my  heart  is  full  of   sorrow, 

For  't  was  just  a  year  ago 
That  I  wandered  here   with   Nelly, 

Who  is  in  the  grave  so  low ! 

Just  a  year  —  the  apple-blossoms 
Scented  all  the  air  as  now, 

And  I  wove  of  them  a  chaplet 
For  my  darling  Nelly's  brow: 


78  ALL     ALOXE     TO-DAY     I     WANDER. 

Then  I  gazed  upon  her  beauty, 
Little  thinking  I   should  pray  — 

Weep  and  pray  o'er  dear  lost  Nelly, 
Long  before  another  May ! 

But  she   died!  the  snows  of  winter 

Once  have   melted  on  her  graAre, 
And  the  flowers  we   loved  to  gather, 

For  the   first  time  o'er  her  wave  ; 
And  the  orchard-trees   are   covered 

With   a   dress  of   pink   and  white, 
And  again  the  May  is  smiling, 

And  again  the   earth  is  bright  J 

And  again  I've   sought  the  orchard, 

But  my  heart  is  full  of   woe, 
For  I  think  of   her  who  wandered 

With  me  here  a  year  ago ; 
And  the   trees  with  blossoms  covered, 

The   air  filled  with  sweet  perfume, 
Only  mind  me  of   the  beauty 

That  lies  faded  in  the -tomb! 


WARP    AND    WOOF. 

LIFE  hath  trouble,  life   hath  sorrow, 
Life   hath   suffering,  pain  and  care, 

Making  oftentimes  the   morrow 
Seem  too  sad  for  us  to  bear. 


Life  hath  joy,  and  life  hath  pleasure, 
Life  hath  even  drops  of   bliss, 

Making  all  beyond  the  azure 
Seem  a  larger  type  of  this. 

And  of  these  an  all-wise   Heaven 
Weaveth  every  web  of  life ; 

Pleasure  for  the  warp  is  given, 
Which  must  have  its  woof  of  strifc 


80  WARP     AXD     WOOF. 

For  if  clouds  were  never  o'er  us, 
If  joy  never  had  its  ebb, 

Heaven  would  never  seem  before  us, 
Life  would  be  a  woofless  web. 


Murmur  not,  then,  when  He  weaveth 
In  thy  life-web  threads  of  woe ; 

Should  not  He  by  whom  man  liveth, 
What  is  best  for  mortals  know  ? 


Who,  when   suffering  is  given, 

E'en  in  thought  shall  dare  complain, 

Knowing  that  an  all-wise   Heaven 
Weaveth  in  the  threads  of  pain ! 


THE    BRIDE. 

'TWAS  the  day  before  the  bridal, 

Health  her  cheeks  like  roses  dyed, 
And  her  lips  exclaimed  "  To-morrow 

I  shall  be  a  happy  bride ! 
I  shall  stand  before  the  altar 

With  one  dear  to  me  as  life, 
And  with  heaven's  benediction, 

I  shall  go  away  his  wife. 
I  am  happy,  oh  how  happy ! 

Sorrow  never   can  betide  — 
It  can  never  cloud  my  pathway, 

While  my  Charlie's  by  my   side!" 


82  THE     BKIDE. 

It  is  morn,  the   bridal  morning, 

And  the  dew  is  off  the  grass, 
And  an  hour  ago  the  bridegroom 

Came  to   claim  his  pretty  lass. 
But  she   cometh  not  to  greet  him, 

What  can  keep  her  thus  away? 
Surely  she  who  loved  him  fondly, 

"Will  become  his  wife  to-day? 
Surely  she  who  but  last  even 

Was  so  happy  in  her  love, 
And  was  longing  for  the  bridal, 

Cannot  now   unfaithful  prove? 


Ah,  poor  Charlie !  in  your  bosom 

Let  the  canker  rankle  deep; 
You  will  never  be   her  husband  — 

You  must  go  away  and  weep! 
I  'm  aware   't  was  but  last  even 

That  you  lingered  by  her  side, 
Talking  of  the   happy  'future, 

But  she's  now  another's  bride! 


THE     BRIDE.  83 

Weep!   poor   Charlie,   for  last  midnight, 
God  who  gave   your  darling  breath, 

Sent  an  angel  who  persuaded 
Her  to  be  the  bride  of  Death  I 


Put  that  dress  of  snowy  satin, 

And  that  bridal  veil  aside, 
And   a  robe  of  spotless  linen 

Put  upon  the   new  made   bride ! 
Part  the  curls  back  from   her   forehead, 

Where   last   night   a  kiss   was  pressed, 
And  her  icy  hands  cross  meekly 

O'er  the   still   and   pulseless  breast; 
And  a  wreath  of  pure  white  lilies 

Put   around   the  sleeper's  head, 
For  the   cold  clay  of  the   churchyard 

Is  to  be  her  bridal  bed! 


Now  look  at  her  as  she  lieth, 

For  the  deep,  damp  grave  arrayed  ; 

Never  yet  a  look  more  peaceful 
Rested  on   a  mortal  maid  ! 


84  THE     BKIDE. 

Never  bride  was  made  more  happy 

On  her  bridal  morn  than   she ! 
And  the   smile  her-  lips  still  curling, 

Asks,   "  Why  do  you  weep  for  me  ? " 
There !  you  've  laid  her  on   her  pillow, 

Where  the  birds  sing  all  the   day, — 
You've  performed  the  last  kind  service  - 

She  is  happy,   come   away ! 


EVEN. 

OH!  I  love  to  stray  at  even, 

When  the  day  has  gone  to  sleep; 
When   upon  the  brow  of   heaven 

Stars  their  nightly  vigils  keep; 
When   the   pale   moon  looks  down   calmly 

O'er  the   meadow   and  the  lea; 
For  the  quiet  of  the   night-time 

Hath   a  pleasing  charm  for  me. 

Oh !  I  love  to  stray  at  even, 
In  the   dusky   shades  of  night, 

To  think  of  the  cherished  blossoms 
That   have  faded  from  my   sight; 


86  EVEN. 

Of  the  ones  who  grew   a-weary 
On  the  toilsome   march  of  life, 

And  unto  the  grave  departed, 

Where  there   comes  no  care   or  strife. 


Then  the  breezes  seem  to  whisper, 

And  the  bright  stars  seem  to  say, 
"Your  departed  friends  are   near  you 

All  the  night  and   all  the   day; 
They  are  near  you,   though  you  see  not 

The  bright  gleaming  of  their  eyes ; 
They  are  near  to  lead  you  upward 

To  a  home  in  Paradise." 


DISEASE. 

DISEASE  is  but  an  angel  in  disguise, 

Sent  down  by   God,   the  spirit's  prison-door 

To  ope  and  let  it  free,  that  to  the  skies, 
Its  native  place,  it  may  return  once  more: 

An  angel,  sent  to  wean  the  immortal  soul, 
With  throes  of  pain  from  this  probative  sphere, 

That  when  we  've  written  o'er  life's  little  scroll, 
We  may  not  have  a  wish  to  linger  here. 

And  were  he  driven  from  the  homes  of  earth, 
Dark  as  it  is,  this  world  would  bo   too  bright, 

And  man   would  never  wish  for  higher  birth, 
To  pass  through  death-gloom  up  to  brighter  light. 


88  DISEASE. 

4 

But  when  thy  strong,  throe-sending  hand,   Disease, 
Doth  wrack  our  frame   with  pain  and  agony, 

Earth  hath  no  power  our  soul  to  hold  and  please, 
"We  long  to  soar  to  brighter  realms  on  high. 

Oh !  kind  it  was  in  God  who  placed  us  here, 
To  send  us  sick-bed  agony  and  woe, 

That  when  our  freedom  and  a  brighter  sphere 
Is  offered  us,  we  might  not  cling  below  I 


REVELATION. 

THIS  world  a  revelation  is, 

With   God's  word  written  out 
So  legibly  on  every  leaf 

We  have  no  cause  to  doubt. 
How  can  we  gaze  upon  the  sea, 

Or  on   the   flowery  sod, 
Or  on  the   sparkling  sky  at  night, 

And  read  not,  "There's  a  God!" 


I  learn  from  every  blade  of  grass, 

Of   his  almighty  power ; 
And  eyes  that  Nature's  book  can  read, 

May  see  on  every  flower 


90  REVELATION. 

The  name  of  its  great  Maker,   God, 
And  his  command  to  man, 

"  Love  you  your  neighbor  as  yourself, 
Cheer  all  the  hearts  you  can." 


And  he   has  written   on  his  works, 

Around  us  and  above, 
On   all  his  gifts  for  one   and  all, 

"There  is  a   God  of  love." 
And  plainly   as  on  printed  page, 

Upon  both  land  and  sea, 
I  read  in  glowing  characters, 

"  Have  thou  no   God  but  me." 


But  not  alone '  in  nature's  writ 

Is   God  to  us  made  known ; 
In  the  low  wind  he   speaks  to  us, 

And  in   the  thunder's  tone ; 
And  every  voice,  from  the  low   chirp 

Of  insects  on  the  sod, 
To  the  loud  murmur  of  the  sea, 

Cries  out,   "  There  is  a   God ! " 


REVELATION.  91 

This  world  a  revelation  is, 

With   God's  word  written  out 
So  legibly  on   every  leaf 

We  have  no  cause  to  doubt. 
How  can  we  gaze  upon  the  sea, 

V 

Or,   on  the  flowery  sod, 
Or  on  the   sparkling  sky   at  night, 
And  read  not,   "There's  a   God!" 


WE    MET. 

WE  met,  but,  meeting,  not  a  smile 

Did  either  of  us  wear; 
You  might  have  read  our  features,  but 

By   the   expression  there, 
Or  by  the  few  cold  words  we   said  — 

You  would  have   called  them  such  — 
You  'd  not  have  thought  we   e'er  had  loved, 

We  who  have  loved  so  much ! 

I  met  his  dark  eye's  piercing  gaze, 

And  «very  nerve  I  strung, 
For  fear  that  he  would  read  my  heart, 

With  bitter  anguish  wrung ; 
For  fear  that  he  would  see  how  well, 

How  much  I  loved  him  yet, 
When  I  would  scorn  to  have  him  know 

I  had  the   least  regret ! 


WE     MET.  93 


All  for  the   sake   of   pride  I  strove 

To  wear  a  happy  look, 
As  if  I,   too,  was  blest,   as  if 

My  spirit  was  not  shook. 
And  when   a  witty  thing  was  said, 

I  laughed   against  my  will, 
A  happy  laugh,  to  make  him  think 

I  did  not  love  him  still ! 

And  oh !  he  was  deceived,  I  know, 
He   must  have  thought  me   blest; 

My  looks  did  not  betray  the  grief 
That  rankled  in  my  breast; 

And  when  we  came   to  part,  my  pride 
And  firmness  lingered  yet, 

And  with  an  icy  look  and   tone, 
•We  parted  as  we  met! 

And   now  I  'm  in   my  room  alone, 

But   not  deceiving  now, 
For  all  the   anguish  of   my  heart 

Is  written  on   my  brow  1 


94  .          WE     MET. 

My  face  no  longer  wears  a  mask 

Of  looks   all  calm  and  cold, 
And  there   is  stain  upon  my  cheeks, 

Where  the  tear-drops  have  rolled ! 

I  'in  thinking  of   the  sunny  past, 

When  he  was  all  to  me; 
Alas!  in  that  respect,  to-day 

Is  just  the  same,  I  see! 
And  must  it  be   so  still,  must  I 

Still  sigh,  weep,  and  regret  ? 
Oh,  for  one  draught  of  Lethe's  stream, 

That  I,  too,  might  forget! 

My  poor,  weak  heart,  peace,  peace !  be  still !    , 

Mourn  not !  why  wilt  thou  sigh  ? 
Be  glad!  it  was  not  love  he  gave; 

Love  doth  not  change  or  die. 
He  was  unworthy  of  thy  trust, 

Oh,   give  him  not  thy  tears ; 
Be  strong !  and  hopefully  await 

The  mede  of  future,  years! 


I    CANNOT    DO    IT. 


"  CANNOT  do  it  ?  "  yes  you  can,  sir. 

Never  say  those  words   again; 
But  with  perseverance  try  ft, 

And  you  will   not,  try  in   vain. 
If   at  first  you  cannot  conquer, 

Try  again,  and  don't  despair; 
For  there's  none  of  us,  poor  mortals, 

Without  some  ill  luck  to  bear-! 

Don't  at  trifles  be  discouraged, 
Work  away  with  heart  and  hand; 

Don't  let  disappointments  daunt  you, 
Don't  be  seen  to  idle  stand; 


96  I     CANNOT     DO     IT. 

For  you'll  never  conquer  troubles, 
While  in  idleness  you  wait ; 

If  you  wish  to  be   successful, 
Boldly  meet  the  storms  of  fate ! 


Do  not  say,   "  I  cannot  do  it "  — 

These  are  words  you  should  despise ; 
When  one's  heart  is  persevering, 

He  will  conquer,  if   he  tries ! 
Then  with  energy  and  courage, 

Go  to  work,   and  never  fear ; 
And  how  dark   soe'er  your  troubles, 

You  will  see  them  disappear ! 


SORROW. 


WHAT   though  the  waves  be  rough, 

And  life  all  wind   and   storm? 
What  though  deep  sorrow  come, 

And  cares  in  many   a  form ! 
What  though   our  hopes   all  fade, 

And    fortune   bring  us   naught ! 
By  lessons  such   as  these, 

Must  our  blind   souls  be  taught! 


If   always  shone  the  sun 
Upon  the  fair  green  earth, 

'T  would  be  a  desert  vast, 
Where   nothing  could  have   birth. 


98  SORROW. 

• 

And  thus,  if  o'er  the  soul 
Were   ever   sunny  skies, 

'T  would  be   a  desert  too, 

Where   nothing  green   could  rise! 

Oh !  drink,   and  murmur  not, 

Thy  brimming  cup  of   woes ; 
Without  the  rain  and  storm, 

How   could  we  have  the  rose  ? 
The  petals  of   thy  soul 

May  need  the  rain,  so  cold; 
For  by  the  storm,   alike 

The  rose   and  soul  unfold! 


HE    BUT    CAME    HOME    TO    DIE. 


THEY  laid  him  in  the  grave  to-day, — 

I  saw  them  lay  him  there, 
Then  turned  with  breaking  heart  away, 

O'erburdened  with  despair. 
Long  years  he  hath  a  wanderer  been 

Upon  a  distant  shore, 
And  now,  although  but  just  returned, 

He  dwells  on  earth  no  more  ! 
It  seems  as  if  the  sun  at  noon 

Had  vanished  from  the  sky ; 
For  brother  who  hath  just  returned — 

He  but  came  home  to  die! 


100  HE     BUT     CAME      HOME      TO     DIE. 

He   wrote   us  from  that  far-off  land 

That  he  should  soon   come  home, 
To  view  again  the  cherished  scenes 

Where  once  he  loved  to  roam. 
Oh,  joyful  news!  it  filled  my  heart 

With  purest,   sweetest  joy, 
But  never  once  thought  I  that  death 

Would   all  our  bliss   destroy. 
And  ere  he  came,  how  very  slow 

The   sluggish   days  moved  by; 
Ah,  little  thought  I  then  that  he 

Was   coming  home  to  die  ! 

He  came  at  last!  what  bliss  was  mine 

To  clasp  again  his  hand, 
And  welcome  him  with  tears  of  joy 

To  his  dear  native  land ; 
To  meet  once  more  his  love-lit  eye  — 

E'en  now  I  see  his  look  — 
And  hath  he  passed  fore'er  away? 

The   thought  I  cannot  brook ! 


.    HE     BUT     CAME     HOME     TO     DIE.  101 

Alas !  we  scarce   bad  welcomed  him, 

Before   we   saw  him  lie 
With  death's  pale   seal  upon  his  brow  — 

He  but  came  home  to  die ! 


Yet  solacing  it  is,   to  think 

'Twas  not  a  stranger's  hand 
His  dying  pillow  smoothed  for  him, 

His   burning  forehead  fanned; 
That  we   through  the   long  nights  of  pain 

Could  watch  beside  his  bed, 
And,   in  the  hour  of  parting,   hear 

The  last  words  that  he  said! 
So,   though  our  brimming  cup  of  bliss 

Is   turned  to  agony, 
Thank  God  our  brother  dear  was  spared 

To  reach  his  home  to  die  1 


THE  HEART  THAT  HAS  LOVED. 

UNTO   the  heart  that  once  hath  loved, 

Truly,  but  oh !  in  vain, 
A  joy  so  sweet — a  love  so  pure  — 

Can   never  come   again ! 
But  o'er  life's  sky,  like   a  midnight  cloud, 

The  years  shall  darkly  pass, 
And  love's  warm  rays  shall  shine   no  more 

On  the  ruined  heart  —  alas ! 

The  wreck  within  may  be  hid  with  smiles, 
Which  are   ever  bright  and  bland, 

But  'tis  like  the  ivy's  verdancy 
That  covers  a  ruin  grand ! 


THE  HEART  THAT  HAS  LOVED.      103 

And  think   not,   though  the   eyes  are  bright, 
Though  the  cheeks  may  wear  no  stain, 

That  the  love-lorn  heart  is  all  restored  — 
It  can  never  love  again! 

There  is  a  "  love "  which  is  not  love, 

But  something  far  more  base ; 
Which  lives  on  wealth  and  station  high, 

Fair  form,   or  charming  face : 
But  where  two  souls  together  run, 

Like  fallen  drops  of  rain, 
Woe,  woe  is  theirs,  if  they  must  part, — 

They  can  never  love  again ! 


THE    SONGS    OF    THE    DEAD. 

THE  songs  that  were   sung  by  the  dead, 

Oh,   never  sing  them  now ; 
They  open  wounds  that  oft  have  bled, 

And  pain  the   heart  and  brow ! 
The   struggling  tears  o'erflow  their  bounds 

To  hear  those  songs  once  dear, 
For  now   they   are  but  doleful  sounds 

To  strike  the  mourner's  ear. 
And  voices  that  regard  the   pain 

Another's  heart  may  know, 
Should  never  sing  those   songs   again 

To  mourners  here   below. 


THE   SOXGS  OF  THE  DEAD.    *    105 

The   songs  that  were  sung  by  the   dead, — 

Oh,  let  them  be  forgot; 
They  turn  the   heart  to  the   loved  ones  fled, 

And  it  grieves  to  see  them  not ! 
They  can  but  draw  the  memory   back 

To  days  forever  o'er, 
And  make   us  tread  the   Past's  dark  track 

In  misery  once   more. 
And   voices  that  regard  the  pain 

Another's  heart  may  know, 
Should  never  sing  those  songs  again 

To  mourners  here  below!       • 


UPWARD    AND    ONWARD. 


UPWAKD  —  onward  !  never  weary 

In   the  path  thou   shouldst  pursue ; 
Though  thy  sky  be  cloudy,   dreary, 

Sunny  smiles  will   soon  break  through. 
If  thou   art  but  persevering, 

Thou  wilt  conquer  all  at  last; 
Then  look  upward,  never  fearing, 

Onward !  though  the   storm  falls  fast. 


Sometimes  conies  a  day  of   sorrow, 
Sometimes  comes  a  night  of  pain; 

Never  mind,  perhaps  to-morrow 
Life   will  be   all  bright   again. 


UPWARD     AND     ONWARD.  107 

And  in  vain  is  harsh  repining, 

Or  a  tear,  or  groan,  or  sigh; 
Though  the  sun  hath  ceased  its  shining, 

Hope  should  yet   illume   the   sky. 

What  though  troubles  you  encounter? 

Care  is  known  by  every  one; 
Upward,  onward  !  nerve  thee   stouter, 

And  the  storm  will  soon  be   done. 
Frowns  will  not  make  burdens  lighter, 

Neither  make  thy  heart  more   gay ; 
Think  the  sun  may  shine  the  brighter, 

When  the  storm  has  passed  away. 


Upward  —  onward  !  let  this  ever 

Be  thy  watchword  here  below, 
And  whatever  fate  betide  thee, 

Thou  wilt  conquer  all,  I  know. 
For  the  heart  that's  persevering 

Never  yet  was  known  to  fail ; 
Then,  though  adverse  winds  assail  thoc, 

Do  not  sit  down   to  bewail. 


108  UPWARD     AND     ONWARD. 

But  be  hopeful,   and  remember 

That  the  darkest  hour  of   night 
Is  the   last  before  the  morning 

Comes  with  soft  and  dewy  light. 
Upward  —  onward !   Perseverance 

Will  be   master  in  the   end ; 
And  though   enemies  assail  thee, 

He  will  make  them  all  to  bend ! 


ANGELS. 


ANGELS  e'er  attend 

On  our  footsteps  here, 
Though  their  silent  wings 

We  may  never  hear. 
They  are   ever  with  us 

All  the   night  and   day, 
Guarding   us   from   danger, 

Lighting  our  dark   way. 

When  our  lips  are   parched 
With  the  fever's  plow, 

Silently  their   win^ 

Fan   our  burning  brow ; 


110  ANGELS. 


And  their  gentle  fingers, 

Driving   pain   away, 
Though   we   may  not  feel  them, 

O'er  our  temples  stray. 


When  our  hearts  are  sad, 

When  we  shed  the  tear, 
To  bear  up   and   soothe, 

They  are  ever  near; 
When  within  our  bosoms 

Hope  and  pleasure  die, 
Our  sad  hearts  to  gladden, 

They  are   ever  by. 


And  whene'er  with  sin 

We   our  hearts  would  stain, 
They,   to  virtue's  path, 

Call  us  back  again ; 
And  their  "  still  small  voices " 

Whisper  in   our  ear, 
"It  will  bring  thee   anguish, 

Sin  not,   brother  dear ! " 


ANGELS.  Ill 


And  when   we,  at  last, 

On  the   bed  of   death, 
Unto  God  who  gave, 

Yield  the  parting  breath, 
With  delight  unbounded, 

They  are  hovering  o'er, 
To  take  back  the  exile 

To  its  native  shore  ! 


THOU    SAY'ST    A    HAPPY    LIFE    IS    THINE. 

THOU  say'st  a  happy  life  is  thine, 

And  I  rejoice  to  think  it   so, 
Though  it  reminds  me  of   the  joy 

I   hoped  for,   but  can  never  know ; 
Though  it  uncovereth   a  past 

That  bringeth  but  regrets  to  me, 
For  oh,   it  was  more  brightly  fair 

Than  e'er  my  future  lot  can   be ! 

Thou   say'st  thou'rt  blest  in   every   tie, 
And  that  thy  heart  is  blithe   and  free ; 

How   sadly  comes  the  painful  thought 

That  such  joy  might  have  been   for  me  ! 


THOU    SAY'ST   A   HAPPY   LIFE   is    THINE.    113 

Yet  I  rejoice   to  think  a  path 

Of  happiness  and  peace  is  thine; 
I  would  not  have  thy  spirit  feel 

The  lonely  wretchedness  of  mine. 

.- 

Oh !   even  as  the  torch  went  out, 

Which  Hope  had  trimmed  for  many  a  day, 
My  heart  was  full  of   deepest  prayer 

That  Heaven  would  bless  thy  earthly  way; 
Though  since  that  hour,  through  midnight  gloom, 

Few  rays  have  bid  me  joy  again, 
Thank   God  that  my  fond  prayers  for  thee 

Have  not  been  heard  by  him  in  vain ! 


WELL,    THERE!     IF    IT    DOESN'T    BEAT    ALL. 

WELL,  there !  if  it  does  n't  beat  all 

That  I  e'er  before   heard  in  my  life ! 
"  Uncle  John,"  who  is  eighty  years  old, 

At  last  he   has  got  him  a  wife ! 
And  how  old,  do  you  think,  is  the  bride  ? 

You  "  guess  between  three  and  fourscore  ! " 
Ho,  ho !   she  is  only  sixteen,  — 

A  girl  of  sixteen,   and  no  more ! 


Her  locks  hang  in  raven-hued  curls, 
And  her  brow  is  unwrinkled  and  fair, 

While  he   is   all  furrowed  with   age, 

And  like  snow  is  the   shade  of  his  hair. 


WELL,  THERE  !  IF  IT  DOES  N'T  BEAT  ALL.  115 

And  when  they  go  by  in"   the  street, 

It  causes  a  great  deal  of  sport, 
To  see  the  old  man  lean  on  her, 

When  she   should  have   him  for  support. 

If  you'd  seen  them  to-day  as  they  passed, 

In   spite  of   yourself   you  'd  have   smiled ; 
I  declare   she   looked  most  young  enough 

To  be   his  great-granddaughter's  child! 
And  the  people  all  think  it  is  strange 

She  should  marry   an   old  man  like   him, 
Who  is  wrinkled,  and  withered,  and  feels 

Old  age  in  his  every  limb ! 

But  to  me  it  is  not  at  all  strange, 

For  a  million  of  gold  is  his  name, 
And  the  girls  would  be  few,  with  a  chance, 

Who  would  not  do  exactly  the  same! 
He  can't  live   much   longer,   you  know, 

He's  so  withered,  and  feeble,  and  old, 
And  when   he   is  dead  and   laid  out  of   the   way, 

She  can  have  what  she  married,  —  his  gold! 


THE    EYES. 

I  CARE  not  whether  the  eyes  are  black, 

Or  whether  they're  gray  or  blue, 
If  they  give  but  a  sign  of   a  loving  heart, 

And  one  that  is  always  true. 
If   affection's  light  is  in  its  gleam, 

That  eye  is  the  eye  for  me; 
I  '11  turn  from  all  others  to  catch  its  ray, 

Whatever  its  hue  may  be. 

Though  bright  the   eye  as  the   evening  star 

On  the   azure  brow   of   night, 
It  gives  but  a  cold  and  chilling  ray, 

If   not  lit  with  affection's  light. 
Then  though  poets  may  praise  the   soft  blue   eye, 

And  others  admire  the   black, 
The   eye  for  me  is  the  one  that  gives 

An   answering  love-gleam  back. 


TO 


NOT  less  bright  than  the  stars  that  shine, 

Lady,   are  those   fair  orbs  of  thine; 

And  in  their  depth,  as  in  a  glass, 

Are   mirrored  the  thoughts  o'er  thy  soul  that  pass. 

i 

White  thy  brow   as  the  virgin  snow, 
Smooth  as  a  silent  stream, — and  oh! 
Not  less  bright  than   the  opening  rose, 
The  bloom  that  doth  on  thy  cheek  repose. 

Glossy   as  silk*  thy   nutbrown  hair, 
Never  were  curls  more  soft  and  fair; 
And   when  thy  lip   with   a  smile   is  curled, 
There 's  nothing  more  sweet  in  all   the   world. 


118  TO    . 

Perfect  the  Artist  thy  form  hath  made, 
Beauty  is  thine  of   the  highest  grade ; 
Every  action  is  one  of  grace, — 
Thou  art  an  anerel  in  form  and  face ! 


But  not  for  thy  bright  and  soul-filled  eye, 

Not  for  thy  cheeks  which  with  roses  vie, 

Not  for  the  grace  of  which  thou  canst  boast, 

Not  for  thy  beauty  I  love  thee  most, — 

But  for  the  cultured  mind  thou   hast, 
That  which  will  beauty,  yea,  time  outlast; 
And  for  thy  gentle   and  loving  heart, 
I  love  thee  with  love  that  will  not  depart. 


WKATH. 

WHEN  wrath  clouds  the  brow,  there  is  always 

A  shadow  thrown  over  the  heart, 
And  Peace,  with  her  radiant  light, 

From  the  bosom  is  sure  to  depart. 
Oh !  keep  then  from  passion  and  anger,  — 

They  bring  but  regret  in  their  path ; 
And  by  being  unkind,  we  are  robbed 

Of  earth's  pleasure,  —  what  little  it  hath. 

At  most,  we  may  know  but  a  little 

Of  Eden-like  pleasure  and  joy; 
Oh !  suffer  not  words  of  unkindness 

To  mix  with  that  little   alloy. 
It  is  best  to  treat  every  one  kindly, 

Even  those  who  are  unkind  to  us; 
It  will  melt  the  cold  ice  in  their  heart's  core, 

And  peace  will  be  ours,  doing  thus. 


CAN    I    FORGET    THEE? 

CAN  I  forget  thee  ?  can  I  e'er 

Forget  the   blissful  days  of   yore? 
Or  can  I, —  can  I  ever  teach 

My  heart  to  worship  thee  no  more  ? 
Oh,  when  the  power  shall  cease,   which  points 

The  needle  to  yon  polar-sphere, 
Then    may  the   spell  be  broken  too, 

Which  binds  my  heart  to  thine  fore'er ! 

Too  happy  were  the  hours  we  Ve  met 
As  we,   alas !  shall  meet  no  more ; 

Too  sweet  the  dreams,  —  which  now  are  past, 
Too  bright  the    hopes,  —  that  now   are   o'er, 


CAN     I     FORGET     THEE?  121 

For  me  to  cast  off  now  the  spell 

Which  binds  my  heart  to  thine   so  fast ; 

Oh,   when  it  throbs  no  more   for  thee, 
That  moment  't  will  have  throbbed  its  last  I 


But  fare  thee  well !  and  I  will  try 

To  teach  my  heart  to  do   God's  will; 
Though  Hope  hath  fled,  forever  fled, 

Thank  Heaven  I  have  one  pleasure  still; 
And  that,  —  to   ever  pray   to  Him 

Who  answereth  the  soul's  deep  prayer, 
To  fill  thy  heart  with  happiness, 

And  let  not  sorrow  enter  there ! 


THE    SEXTON'S    GRAVE. 

A  SEXTON  dug  a  grave  one  day, 

And  I  was  passing  by; 
While  pausing  there,  I  heard  him  say, 

"Who'll  be  the  next  to  die, — 
Who  '11  be  the  next  one  called  upon 
To  put  immortal  garments  on?" 

He  further  mused,   and  then  he  said  : 
"  That  man  across  the  way, 

Whose   snowy  locks  o'ershade  his   head, 
Has  little   time  to   stay ! 

I  think  he'll  be   the  next  to  die, 

And  slumbering  in  the  grave  to  lie." 


THE    SEXTON'S    GRAVE.  123 

A  few  short  days  had  quickly  sped 

When,  passing  there   once  more, 
I  saw,   close  by,     the   new-made   bed 

Of  some  one  gone  before. 
I  asked  an  old  man  standing  near, 
"Pray,  tell  me  who  is  sleeping  here  ? " 

"  Our  sexton,  free   from  care   and  strife," 

The  white-haired  man   replied; 
"  Though  young  and  in  the  prime  of  life, 

Three  days  ago  he  died! 
I  thought  not  death   would  lay  him   low, 
And  spare  these  withered  locks  of  snow ! " 


FOR    ANNETTE'S    ALBUM. 

THINK  not,  my  friend   of   early   years, 

That  time  or  chance  can  tear  away 
The  friendship  which,   within  my  heart, 

Has  rooted  deeper  every  day. 
Whatever  changes  fate  may  bring, 

Whatever  be  thy  future  lot, 
Unblighted  shall  it  flourish  still, 

The  frost  of   years  can  chill  it  not! 

And  many,  many  years  from  this, 

If  I  am  wandering  still  below, 
White-haired  and  near  an  old  man's  grave, 

'Twill  be  the   sweetest  joy  I  know, — 
To  think  of   hours  I've  spent   with  thee, 

And  sigh  to  think  they   are  no  more; 
To  spread  my  fancy's  rainbow-wings, 

Fly  back  arid  live  our  meetings  o'er ! 


OUR    CHILDHOOD'S    HOME. 

THERE  is  a  spell  which  binds  us  to  the  spot 

Where  childhood's  bright  and  sunny  years  were  passed ; 

And  though  we  roam,  that  place  is  ne'er  forgot,  — 
We   cherish  it  and  love  it  to  the  last. 


Though  duty   call  us  from  that  spot  to  stray 
Upon   some  other  and  far  distant  shore, 

We  turn  from  every  foreign   scene   away, 

And  long  to  greet  our  childhood's  home  once  more. 

Why   wonder  that  our  fondest  love  should  cling, 
E'en  to  life's  close,  to  that  dear,  hallowed  spot  ? 

For  there  we  used  to  laugh,  and  sport,  and  sing, 
And  care  was  then  a  cup  we  tasted  not. 


126  OTTR    CHILDHOOD'S    HOME. 

'Twas  there  we  knew  a  mother's  tender  care, 

And  friends  were  linked  by  love   unto  the   heart 
There  childhood's  sky  was  ever  bright  and  fair, 

»  " » 

Or  if  a  cloud  arose,  it  soon  was  broke  apart. 

'Twas  there  we  roamed,  to  joyousness  awake, 
And  life  seemed  to  us   but  a  blissful  dream; 

And  there   a  thousand  things  occurred,   which  make 
That  spot  the  brightest  isle  in  life's  broad  stream. 

/ 

Oh!  strong's  the  spell  that  binds  us  to  the   spot 
Where  childhood's  bright  and  sunny  years  were  passed ; 

And  though  we  roam,  that  place  is  ne'er  forgot,  — 
We  cherish  it  and  love  it  to  the  last. 


THE    SEPARATION. 

THOU  who  hast  long  been  wont  with  me  to  share 

Whatever  fate  might  pour 
Into  my  life-cup,   whether  joy  or  care ; 
Thou  who  hast  long  been   wont  upon  my  breast 
Thy  head  to  pillow  for  repose   and  rest; 
Thou  who  hast  been   a  soothing  mate,  a  wife, 
Shedding  thy  smiles   like  sunshine   on  my  life, — 

We  part   forevermore, 
As  part  two  waves  that  meet  and  break  upon  the  shore  1 

Henceforth  through  life  one  path  no  more   is  ours; 

No  longer  side  by   side 
We  breathe  the  odor  of  the  selfsame  flowers; 


128  THE    SEPARATION. 

But  as  the  South 's  divided  from  the   North, 
So  are  our  paths  divided ;   and  henceforth 
My  breast 's  no  more  thy  pillow,   and  my   arm 
No  more  a  shield  to  keep  thee  from  all   harm ; 

And  more,  the  mighty  tide 
Henceforth  between  us  rolls,  of  passion,  scorn,  and  pride ! 


Our  hearts  each  other  will  repel ;  —  as  part 

Two  friends  that  oft  have  met, 
To  bear  each  other's  image  in  the  heart, — 
To  name   each  other  in  their  prayers   at  night, 
And  long  for  days   of   absence   to  take  flight, 
We   do  not  part ;  but  striving  we   shall   go, 
Each  other's  image   from  the  breast  to  throw; 

To  bear  against  regret, 
And,   were  it  possible,   each  other  to  forget ! 


We  part,  —  oh  !  mad'ning  is  the  thought !  —  the  leaves 

Seem  from  my  life-book  torn ! 
My  very  soul  bows  to  the   dust   and  grieves ! 
But  how  is   it  with  thee  ?   Say,  in  thy  heart 
Is  there  no  shame,  no  sorrow,  that  we  part? 


THE     SEPAKATION".  129 

No:  I  can  read  it  in  thy  cold,  stern  eye; 
Thy   breast  is  but  the   home   of  perfidy ! 

Alas,  and   yet  I  mourn 
Not  more  for  my  poor  self,  than  for  the  babe  thou  'st  borne  ! 


Sweet  child!  it  is  thy  sad  and  dreary  lot, 

While  thou  shalt  journey  here, 
A  father's  loving  care,  to  know  it  not; 
It  is  thy  lot  to  launch  on  life's  rough  tide 
With   no  fond  father  to   direct  and  guide; 
To  cross,  perchance,   the   sea   of   destiny, 
With  none   to  tell  thee   where  the   dangers  lie  1 

But  He  who  sees  each  tear 
Of  parting  that  I  shed,  —  may  He  be  ever  near! 

And  now,  my  babe,  oh,  with  what  lovingness, 

Upon  thy  dimpled  cheek, 

Perchance   the  last,  fond,  yearning  kiss  I  press ! 
When  thou  hast  learned  to  prattle  and  to  play, 
I   shall  not  joy  to  watch  thy  childish  way ; 
For  never  more  thy  smile  my  heart  shall  cheer, 
Thy  lips  may  never  call  me  "father"  here! 


130  THE     SEPARATION". 

Farewell,  sweet  babe !  to  speak 
The  anguish  that  I  feel,  words  are  too  few  and  weak ! 


And  thou,    O  false,  inconstant,  faithless  wife, 

Whose  broken  love  hath   cast 
A  shameful  shadow  o'er  my  future  life, 
Go,  go  thy  way,  and  from  this  parting  hour, 
Forget  thou  e'er  wast  mine,   if   thou  hast  power! 
But   ah !  thou  hast  not,   thou  canst  not  forget ; 
Oft  in  thy  dreams  I  shall  be  with  thee  yet ; 

And  the  bright  hours  we've  passed 
In  cloudless  joy  and  peace  will  haunt  thee  to  the  last! 


But  go  thy  way!  and  may  kind  Fortune  fill, 

Until  it  runneth  o'er, 

Thy  cup  with  happiness, — I  bless  thee  still! 
But  thou  canst  not  be  happy ;  thou  wilt  cast, 
Too  late,  regretful  looks  upon  the  past; 
And  all  thy  sin  and  faithlessness  shall  bring 
Deep   sorrow  yet  thy  perjured  heart  to  wring ! 

Yet  would  my  bosom  pour 
A  blessing  on  thee  still; — farewell,  forevermore! 


HAD    THAT    STAR    SHONE    FOR    ME. 


DAY-STAB  and  guide-star  of  my  soul, 

Which  in  life's  morning  shone   so  bright, 
Thou  wert  to  me,  —  and  once  I  hoped 

Thou  wouldst  be   such  until  the  night. 
But  ere  the  morning  hours  were  past, 

How  bitterly  I  wept  to  see 
The  last  faint  ray  of  hope  expire, 

And  know  that  star  shone  not  for  me! 


And  then  I  said,  "I  must  not  mourn; 

Rise  up,  my  spirit!  and  forget 
How  bright  that  star  of  morning  shone  ; 

And  oh,  thou  may'st  be  happy  yet ! " 


132  HAD    THAT    STAB   SHONE   FOK   ME. 

And  since  that  hour,  in  many  lands, 
I've  sought  for  Lethe's  fabled  stream, 

But  memory  holds  its  brightness  still, 
And  still  that  star  shines  in  my  dream. 

I've  sought  the  merry  revel  too, 

The  halls  where  mirth  and  joy  control, 
And   mingled  gayly  with  the   gay, 

To  quench  this  passion  of   my  soul ; 
But  it  hath  only  taught  me  this, 

That  true  love  knoweth  no  decay; 
That  hearts  that  deeply,   truly  love, 

Must  love  for  aye,  —  must  love  for  aye ! 

And  now  I  walk  alone,    like  one 

Whose   heart  is  like   a  bm*ial-urn, 
Where   all  its  once   bright  hopes  repose, 

Cold  ashes  which  no  more   shall  burn ; — 
Like  one   who  gropes  his  weary   way 

Upon  some  dark,  benighted  lea, 
Thinking   how  bright  life  might  have  been, 

Had  that  star  only  shone  for  me  I 


SUMMER    MORNING    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 

AURORA  comes!  her  face  grows  bright  and  brighter, 
The   shades  of   night  before  her  glances  fly; 

And  in  her  smile  the  lamps  of  heaven  grow  whiter ; 
Now  one  alone  is  left  to  gem  the  sky. 

Delightful  hour!  fit  time  for  Nature's  lover 
To  wander  forth  and  talk  with  her  alone; 

To  gaze  upon  her  face  and  there .  discover 

Her  wondrous  truths  and  make  them  all  his  own ! 

How  soft  the  balmy  breeze !  it  seemeth  laden 
With  all  that's  sweet  and  grateful  to  the  sense; 

To  breathe  the  pure,  fresh  air,  come  forth,  pale  maiden, 
Health's  rosy  cheek  shall  be  thy  recompense. 

The   happy  birds  on   every  bough  are  singing 
Praise  unto  God  who  sends  the  morning  bright; 


134        SUMMER    MORKING     IN     THE     COUNTRY. 

How  cheerfully  the  welkin's   dome  is  ringing, 
They  seem  to  feel  a  rapturous  delight! 

How  bright  the  dew-refreshed  eyes  of  flowers, 
So  softly  opening  to  the  morning's  ray; 

They,  too,   seem  glad,  they  smile  from  fields  and  bowers, 
And  unto  heaven  rich  incense-offerings  pay ! 

How   crimson  now  the  orient  is  growing; 

The  sun  will  soon  peep  o'er  the  eastern  hills; 
He  comes !  see  how  the  mountain-tops  are  glowing, 

While  shadow  yet  the  lowly  valley  fills ! 

Now  in  the  field'  the  mower's  scythe,  is  sounding, 
The   strong-armed  smith,  —  I  hear  his  bellows  blow ; 

All,  all  is  life,   and  Nature's  pulse  is  bounding, 
Which  seemed  so  sluggish  but  an  hour  ago! 

Oh!  ye  who  dwell  in  the  pent  streets  and  alleys, 
Ye  lose  the  sweetest  smile  that  nature  wears; 

Leave  your  dark  dens,  —  come  to  the   hills  and  valleys, 
If  ye  would  see  the  pomp  the  summer  morning  bears ! 


On !  were  I  on  my  death-bed  now, 

I  think  that  I  would  say, 
You  must  not  mourn  for  me,  dear  friends, 

When  I  have  passed  away ; 
But  when  you  come  unto  my  grave 

Look  up,  and  brightly  smile, 
To  think  that  my  freed  spirit's  gaze 

Is  on  you  there  the  while ! 


When  this  poor  body  dies,  my  soul 

Will  be  an  angel  then, 
And  you  will  only  bury  what 

Was  once  my  spirit's  den. 


136  COME     TO     MY     GRAVE,    AND      SMILE. 

Then,  in  the  angel-form,  unseen 

I  still  shall  hover  near 
To  bless  you,  and  I  would  not  see 

You  shed  the  bitter  tear. 

I  would  not  see  you  come   and  weep 

Above  my  lowly  bed,         ^ 
As  though  you  mourned  that  from  life's   care 

And  sorrow  I  had  fled ; 
As  though  you  thought  that  I  laid  there 

A  prisoner  in  the  tomb; 
As  though  you  knew  not  I  had  found 

The  realms  of  fadeless  bloom. 

But  rather  let  me  see  you  come 

Unto  my  grave  and  smile, 
To  think  that  my  freed  spirit's  gaze 

Is  on  you  there  the  while; 
To  think  I've   crossed  life's  troubled  sea, 

And  reached  that  blissful  shore, 
Where  we  shall  all,  all  meet  again, 

And  part  —  sweet  thought  —  no  more! 


WEEP    NOT    FOR    HDL 


WEEP  not  for  him  who  in  life's   morn 

Hath  from  your  number  fled ; 
He   was  too  fair  and  good  for  earth, 

Then  why  should  tears  be  shed  ? 
Think  that  'tis  good  to  die  in  youth, 

Ere  life  its  charm  hath   lost; 
Ere  in  this  cold  and  sinful  world 

The  soul  is  tempest-tossed. 

'Tis  true  his  pleasant,  tuneful  voice, 

Ye  never  more  will  hear, 
And  ne'er  again  his  sunny  smile 

Your  sinking  hearts  will  cheer ; 


188  WEEP     NOT    FOR     HIM. 

Nor  will  those  eyes  of  lustrous  blue 

Be  opened  here  again, 
For  in  the  quiet  grave  he  sleeps, 

Beyond  the  reach  of  pain ! 

But   God  thought  best  to  take  him  hence, 

Or  he  could  not  have  died ; 
Remember  'twas  an  all-wise   God 

Who  took  him  from  your  side. 
And  when  thy  walk  is  ended  here, 

"When  this   short  dream  is  o'er, 
In   heavenly  mansions,  bright   and  fair, 

He  '11  thy  lost  one  restore ! 

Then  when   you  go  unto  his  grave, 

Sad,  weary,   and  forlorn, 
Remember  that  an   angel's  crown 

Doth  now  his  brow  adorn ; 
And  weep  not  him  who  in  life's  morn 

Hath  from  your  number  fled, — 
He   was  too  fair  and  good  for  earth, 

Then  why  should  tears  be  shed? 


REQUITED    LOVE. 

0  LOVE,  if  all  the  wealth  of  earth 
Could  be  bestowed  on  me, 

1  would  not  take  it,  if  thereby 
I  were  forgot  by  thee : 

For  it  would  never  give  me  joy 

To  live  in  halls  of  gold, 
If  for  that  wealth  I  knew  that  I 

Thy  priceless  love  had  sold  ! . 

Then  say  again  thou'lt  love  me  still, 
When  many  years  are  past; 

That  come  what  will,  thou  wilt  be  true 
As  long  as  life  shall  last; 


140  REQUITED     LOVE. 

That  though  all  other  friends  may  flee, 
Thou  wilt  be  still  the  same, 

And  adverse   winds  will  only  serve 
To  brighten  up  love's  flame ! 


Thou  need'st  not  speak,  —  the  beaming  light, 

In  thy  soft  azure  eyes, 
Raised  unto  mine   so  lovingly, 

With  fervency,  replies, — 
"  O  friend,  my  dearest  earthly  friend, 

Think  not  my  love  can  change ; 
Its  holy  spell  within  my  heart 

Time  never  can  estrange  !  " 


Enough!  one  drop  of  pleasure  more 

My  cup  would  overflow; 
'Tis  all  the  joy  I  ask,  that  thou 

Wilt  share  my  lot  below ! 
And  thou  shalt  never  rue  the  hour 

Thou  pledged  thy  heart  to  me, — 
My  constant  study  shall  be  this, 

To  worthy  prove  of  thee ! 


THE    LAKE    OF    YOUTH. 

How  beautiful  in  after  years 

The  home  of  our  lost  youth  appears! 

And  there  is  in  each  human  heart 

A  room  by  Memory   set  apart 

To  hold  bright  pictures  of   that  home, 

When  far  away  from  it  we  roam! 

I  wander  now  in  Memory's  hall, 
And  look  at  pictures  on   the   wall, — 
Most  beautiful  pictures  of   a  cot, 
Which,  though  I  roam,   is  ne'er  forgot; 
Where  such  bright  dreams  of  life  I  dreamed, 
And  thought  a  silent  lake  it  seemed; 
Where  first  I- said,  "How  sweet  to  live," 
And  thought  not  future  years  could  give 


142  THE     LAKE     OF     YOUTH. 

Such  beating  storms,  —  such  wrecking  wares ; 
Such  dark,   dark   days,  —  such  deep,   deep  graves 
For  perished  hopes;  such  dreadful  fears  — 
Such  lasting  pain,  —  such  burning  tears  ! 


Oh !  there  life  was  a  silent  lake, 
Whose  glassy  surface   scarce  did  break ; 
Though  grief   sometimes  obscured  the  sky 
To  see  some   hope,  some  blossom  die, 
Yet  on  the  lake's  unruffled  breast 
I  had  much  left  to  make  me  blest. 
Ah  me,  I  clasp   an   aching  brow 
To  think  I*  ve  left   its  bosom   now ! 


One  morn   I  passed  into  a  bay  — 
It  seemed  so  —  which  before   me  lay ; 
Alas,  it  was  a  mighty  river, 
And  the  still  lake  was  left  forever! 
Now    down  the  outlet's  rushing  tide, 
With  dangerous  rocks  on  either  side, 
My  boat  is  borne.     God  grant  me   skill, 
Wisdom  to  steer  from  every  ill ! 


THE     LAKE     OF     YOUTH.  143 

Fair  Lake  of   Como!  though  thy  name 

Is  loved  by  poets  and  by  fame ; 

Though  in  the   evening  twilight's  gleam, 

Or  in  Aurora's  crimson  beam, 

Thy  beauty,  so  superbly  bright, 

Fills  the  rapt  artist  with  delight, 

Fairer  was  that  on  which  my  oar 

Shall  break  the  level  brim  no  more ; 

As  much  more  bright  as  worlds  where  bliss 

Shall  end  not,  brighter  are  than  this  I 

And  when  I  hear  the  swelling  roar 

Of  the  Niagara  before, 

O'er  which  I  know  my  boat  must  leap 

Into  eternity's  broad  deep ; 

When  in  those  waters'  deaf'ning  sound 

I  hear  no  other  tones  around; 

When  the  dark  mists  which  there  arise 

Shall  veil  the  earth-shore  from  my  eyes, — 

Oh!  in  that  moment's  awful  stay, 

Up  life's  long  stream  my  mind  will  stray, 

Where  once  the  world  seemed  love  and  truth, 

Upon  the  placid  LAKE  OF  YOUTH! 


TO    A    SISTER,    WITH    A    PRESENT. 

DEAR  sister,  take  this  simple  gift, 

And  let  it  ever  be 
A  sacred  relic,  prized  and  dear, 

By  which  remember  me. 
Sometimes,  perhaps,  in  fields  of  joy 

And  pleasure  we  may  reap ; 
But  oft  stern  Fate  will  do  her  worst, 

And  we   shall  mourn  and  weep ! 
But,  sister  dear,   in   after  years, 

Whate'er  our  lot  may  be, 
Press  this  memento  to  thy  heart, 

And  often  think  of  me ! 


MARTNTHA. 

BE9PECTFT7LLY  INSCRIBED    TO   MR.  AND  UBS.  J.   6TANNAKD. 

MARINTHA,  from  that  brighter  sphere, 

Where  thou  art  dwelling  now  in   bliss, 
Canst  thou  look  down  upon  us  here, 

Or  come  unseen  to  visit  this? 
Oh,  if  thou  canst,  —  if  thou  canst  hear 

Our  sighs,  and  all  our  weeping  see, 
Forgive,  forgive  each  selfish  tear 

That  all  unbidden  flows  for  thee ! 


We  know,  —  we  know  that  thou  dost  roam 
Where  fadeless  flowers  perfume  the  air, 

That  in  thj    bright  Elysian  home, 
All  things  are  beautiful  and  fair; 


146  MAEINTHA. 

And  oh,   we  know  bliss  far  more  sweet 
Is  thine  in  that  celestial  clime, 

Than  ever  yet  they  knew  whose  feet 
Roamed  wearily  the  shore  of  time ! 


But   oh !  how  much  we  miss  thy  face 

Around  the  board,  beside  the  hearth, 
And  it  is  sad  to  think  thy  place 

Will  know  thee  here  no  more   on   earth  I 
Then  if  thou  canst  our  sighing  hear, 

And  all  our  bitter  weeping  see, 
Forgive,  forgive   each  selfish  tear 

That  all  unbidden  flows  for  thee ! 


THE     MAGDALEN. 

LOOK  not  at  her  so  scornfully, 

Though  stained  with  sin  and  shame; 
Oh,  think  how  soft  and  stealthily 

The  disguised  Tempter  came. 
Think  how,  with   all  a  villain's  art, 

And  many  a  subtle  word, 
He  charmed  her  as  the  cunning  snake 

Charmeth  the  helpless  bird! 

Look  not  at  her  so  scornfully, 

Thy  words  of  chiding  spare; 
If  thou  couldst  ope  that  sin-crushed  heart, 

And  read  the  record  there, 


148  THE     MAGDALEN. 

Perchance  far  whiter  than  thou  think'st 

Those  pages  would  appear, 
And  thou  wouldst  change  that  look  of  scorn 

Into  a  pitying  tear ! 

Look  not  at  her  so  scornfully, 

And    say,  "a  Magdalen;" 
God  can  forgive  the  blackest  sin, 

And  so  should  "  Christian "  men ! 
But  help  her  with  thy  hand  to  rise, 

For  oh,  the  world's  cold  frown, 
Thou  canst  not  know  how  heavily 

It  holds  the  fallen  down ! 

Look  not  at  her  so  scornfully, 

For  it  is  not  for  thee 
To  judge  how  darkly  stained  by  sin 

Another's  heart  may  be. 
Oh,  those  who  have  in  weakness  erred, 

Look  kindly  still  at  them, 
And  He  who  can  their  bosoms  read, 

Let  Him  alone  condemn! 


PARTING    WORDS. 

WHEN  loved  ones  lie  upon  the  bed  of  death, 
About  to  pass  from  earthly  scenes  away, 

About  to  close  this  life  of  mortal  breath, 
What  words  of  parting  shall  we  speak,  —  oh,  say  ? 


Oh,  in  that  hour  of  grief,  what  words  can  tell 
The   parting  wish  the   breaking  heart  would  speak  1 

The  fond  "good-by,"  the  passionate  "farewell," 
When  heard  beside  the  dying  bed,  how  weak! 

Then  breathe   them  never  unto  one  whose  sight 
Hath  caught  the  shining  of  the  spires  above ; 

But  whisper,   if   the  lips  can   speak,   "  Good-night ! 
'Tis  close  of   life's  short  day,  good-night,  my   love! 


150  PARTING     WORDS. 

"And  oh!  beloved,   this  night  will  bring   a  morn, — 
One  brighter  far  than  thou  hast  seen  below ; 

Our  Father's  smile  will  everything  adorn, 
We  would  not  keep  thee  here,  good-night,  love,  go! 

"  And  when  o'er  us,  too,  falls  the  night  of  life,  — 
When  o'er  Eternity's  white  hills  we  greet 

The  morning's  beams,  far  from  this  mortal  strife, 
Earth's  care  and  pain,  how  will  we  fly  to  meet ! 

"Then  will  God's  smile  dry  all  our  tears  away, 
As  sunbeams  dry  a  flower  that  's  wet  with  dew ; 

And  Death  shall  part  us  there   no  more  for  aye,  — 
No  more  shall   Sorrow  in  our  track  pursue  1 

"  Gently  as  flowers  at  morning  hour  unfold, 
Fall  now  the  curtain  o'er  thy  earthly  sight;  — 

What  splendor  will  thy  spirit-eyes  behold, 

So  soon  to  ope! — good-night,  beloved,  good-night!" 


WILT    THOU    REMEMBER    ME? 

WE  part,  —  but  oh,  the  blissful  hours 

Thy  side  I've  lingered  near, 
Till  life's  last,  feeble  beat  is  o'er, 

Will  be  to  memory  dear ! 
Nor  can  this  heart  of   mine   forget 

How  oft  at  close  of  day, 
It  hath  thrilled  to  hear  thy  silver  voice, 

Poured  forth  in  some  sweet  lay! 

And  say,  dear  one,  when  years  have  fled, 

And   at  some  twilight  hour, 
Dreams  of  the  past  come  o'er  thy  mind 

With  sweet  and  magic  power; 
Or  when,  upon  the  evening  air, 

Thy  songs  float  clear  and  free, 
As  when  we  met  in  days  gone  by, 

Wilt  thou  remember  me  ? 


STANZA. 


OH,  seldom  express  your  love  in  words, 
For  their  power  is  all  too  weak, 

And  the  eye  hath  a  better  and  softer  way, 
The  language  of  love  to  speak ! 


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